


Believe

by Myoneloveismusic, what_a_dork_fish



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: ABO, Hartwin, M/M, Shapeshifting, hella ridiculous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myoneloveismusic/pseuds/Myoneloveismusic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who the fuck believes in 'shifters these days?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eggsy decides

“Puppy!”

Alanna grabbed her little cousin before the child could run across the park and tackle the miserable-looking corgi tied to a bench. “Be careful, Sven,” she sighed, “He might bite.”

“He won’t bite,” Sven answered her with all the gravity and certainty of all his six years. He then yanked out of her grip and pelted for the bench.

The dog, seeing the child running towards it, immediately twisted and tried to jump up on to the bench; but the cord holding it was too short, and it fell again with a surprised yelp. Then Sven was on it, carefully picking it up and patting gently, saying things in the half croon he used with the dogs at home.

Alanna started to run as soon as Sven did, but now, the way it held so very still in the little boy’s arms made her slow to a jog. Sven was a fast little bastard. Alanna knelt closer to the bench than the dog in Sven’s lap, took out her penknife, and hacked at the cord. When it broke, the dog began to wriggle frantically, attempting to break Sven’s tight grip, but showing absolutely no inclination to use its teeth or claws, or even to bark. It had been absolutely silent except for that single yelp, and it remained so, even as it fought.

Alanna grabbed the loop of rope around the dog’s neck and told Sven very calmly, “Let go of him now, Svenny. I’ve got him.”

Sven released the dog reluctantly. The poor animal flattened its ears and stiffened its stubby legs, but Alanna pulled it gently and firmly towards her, just close enough to see if there were any visible tags or other marks of ownership. None. Maybe a chip?

Or maybe the poor baby truly was abandoned.

“Can we keep him?” Sven asked eagerly.

The dog looked up at Alanna. Its eyes were a strange greyish hazel, not really the kind of color a dog would have, and especially not a corgi. Alanna looked at it thoughtfully, then, half-jokingly, she asked the dog, “I don’t know, would you like to come home with us?”

The dog met her eyes squarely, as if deliberating, or considering. Then it plopped its front end in her lap and heaved a heavy doggy-sigh.

“I… I’ll take that as a yes,” Alanna stammered. Sven shrieked joyfully.

~\0/~

The next morning, the corgi was gone, the front door was unlocked, and a note had been hastily scribbled on a post-it; _“Thanks for the kibble.”_

~~~\0/~~~

God, I hate leaving like that.

But I couldn’t just stay. They’re nice people, even if they are rich; but I need to get home. I need to make sure he didn’t hurt mum because of me.

Why did it have to start so late? Why couldn’t dad have been around to explain?

Why do I have to be so _fucking_ short?

Whys won’t help. Gotta pay attention. Can’t be caught again. Good thing there’s mud; a quick roll and I’m covered. As long as I keep to the shadows, I should be alright, at least until it gets too light.

Oh, shut up, you mutt. You ain’t even a real poodle. Oi! Say that to my face, you fucking bad dog! You—shit! Run! Run run run!

~\0/~

“Bollocks.”

Or, that’s what the little corgi sitting dejectedly in his kennel would’ve liked to say. Unfortunately he couldn’t, because he was not a very good ‘shifter, and that little twist in his head, the reminding of being human, was exhausting. He’d already shifted twice in a twelve-hour stretch; until morning, he was stuck.

As such, he was unable to curse as a human could. This was more depressing than being in a kennel.

It was the indignities that were the most infuriating. A _bath_? Being _scrubbed_ by alien hands in a cold room, and patted and cooed at, and treated like a _baby_? He’d have bitten them, except if he did that he’d be put down. But they’d given him a _bath_. He was still highly offended by the experience. And the kibble—it was _puppy_ food. It was for baby dogs with their eyes barely opened. He was twenty-three, damn it, not a baby, not like—

He whined and his ears flattened as he stared at the fence-door. He needed to get home. He needed to reassure Daisy. That had been how Dean had caught him when shifted; he’d been playing with Daisy in this shape, and then Dean came home and—mum had tried, but—he had to break out, he had to get home. He lurched to his paws and waddled to the food dish, scarfing down the puppy-kibble, because usually the taste of dog food reawakened his cravings for beef Wellington, which reminded him of mum, which was his key to being human. Hadn’t mum raised him to be a good man? Or, she’d tried to. He’d failed her…

Another whine escaped the corgi, but he ate until his stomach hurt, and closed his eyes and focused as hard as he could: bare skin, fur invisible and thin; long legs, walking on his feet instead of toes and fingers; no tail, no sense of smell, colors everywhere—

The door to the hall of kennels opened. He lost his sense of self, and became, yet again, a dejected little dog sitting in his kennel, whimpering in distress and loneliness.

Quick steps; murmuring voices. A familiar scent.

“MUM!”

He could not make the word, but he barked excitedly anyway, and leapt for the fence-door, bouncing off it, walking on his hind legs and pawing at the air, barking for his mother.

“Gary!” Mum’s fingers hooked in the wire and she beamed down at the capering corgi, tears in her eyes. “Oh, thank god!”

“Excuse me,” the kennel-worker murmured, unlocking and opening the door. The dog darted out, swerved, and leapt into mum’s outstretched arms, tail wagging so furiously his entire backside wiggled. She laughed and hugged him, stroking his ears as he laid his chin on her shoulder and heaved a happy dog-sigh.

“Here,” she murmured, and, after a bit of jostling, slid a circle of elastic around his neck. Attached to the elastic was the medal he’d had since he was very small, the pink one with a sideways ‘K’ on it. He didn’t care. He was going home. That was all he cared about.

“Would you like a proper collar?” the kennel-worker asked.

Mum paused, then smiled again. “Yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

As soon as they were out of the kennel (the collar and leash were just plain insulting, but necessary), mum knelt to scratch his ears and whisper urgently, “Babe, I’m so sorry, he’s out today so you can come home like this, but you can’t be like this again. I’m sorry, I know you have to practice, but you have to be human around him from now on.”

He gave her a Look, but kissed her cheek and leaned into the scratches. He knew he couldn’t be in this shape around Dean, who hated dogs so strenuously and didn’t believe in ‘shifters. Well, who would, in this day and age?

They began the walk home. Mum didn’t have a car, and he wouldn’t be allowed on a bus. He trotted with his head and ears high, safe with his mum. And she’d be safe with him; if anyone assaulted her, he’d bring them down quick enough. He didn’t know why he always felt so protective in this shape, but it was one of the many, many reasons he dared not bump into Dean or any of his muppets. He’d probably chew through their ankles.

He really hated being so short. It was so—

A waft of scent, crisp, familiar-yet-not, evoking memories of—of—his head whipped around, nose in the air, searching for the source of that arresting smell.

A man, one in a suit, using an umbrella like a cane, was climbing into a taxi ahead, upwind of them. He glanced towards them, met the corgi’s astonished eyes. He winked, so quickly it almost didn’t happen, and then he was in, the door was closed, and the car was driving away.

The corgi felt like howling with frustration.

That _scent_ ; he knew what it was, without understanding how. Another shapeshifter. Another dog, like him, only not. A different breed? But that didn’t matter, what mattered was _he wasn’t alone_.

And he’d _winked_.

The corgi sighed deeply and trotted closer to his mum’s side. He’d never forget that scent. Even as a human, he knew he would know that smell forever. Maybe… he could pick it up somewhere, and follow it… but what would he do if he found the ‘shifter? What would he say? No, it was enough to know he wasn’t alone. It had to be enough.

~~~\0/~~~

He practiced shifting as much as he could without drawing attention or letting on to anyone. Daisy seemed not to notice a difference between the adult human who held and sang to her, and the dog who would dance for her and let her pull its ears and tail. Mum got used to it too. Maybe it was easier because she’d lived with dad for several years.

“What shape was dad?” Eggsy asked mum, a bit breathless from playing with Daisy in dog-form.

“A corgi, like you,” mum answered, smiling a little. “You two would play just like you and Daisy do. Dust or hoover?”

“Hoover.”

That was another thing. They had to be very careful to get every stray bit of fur cleaned away before Dean came home. He may claim to “be alright with” dogs, but he did not like the thought of his wife or stepson getting a dog without his permission; thus, the tying Eggsy to a park bench when he couldn’t change fast enough. They couldn’t let him know Eggsy was a ‘shifter. He’d do worse than tie him up.

Eggsy was getting better at it, though, and faster. It took less and less time to shift, though he still had to use food as an incentive. And for some reason he kept thinking—thinking of that other ‘shifter. The face was blurry, the picture in his mind uncertain, but he could still remember the scent, when he tried. It was musky, and smoky, and thick without being cloying, and… no, it was gone again.

~\0/~

“What the FUCK?!”

He whipped around, dropping the toy he and Daisy had begun to fight over, and his ears flattened immediately.

Dean stood in the doorway, staring at the corgi pup that had, just a few seconds ago, been his stepson. The two males gaped at each other for a long moment. Mum was out; that’s why Eggsy was playing with Daisy, and that’s why he’d thought it safe to shift.

Then Dean’s face twisted, and he grabbed a knife from the counter.

Eggsy bolted to his room and kicked the door closed, shifting back to human in a blink, locking the door firmly and backing away.

“Come outta there, you fuckin’ freak!” Dean roared. “Come out and explain yourself!”

No, no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t die naked either, though; so he scrambled to put on a pair of pants, as Dean hammered on the door with his fist and shouted abuse. The cheap wood creaked. Eggsy dressed faster.

He’d just pulled on a shirt when Dean kicked the door open. Eggsy had time to take a breath to shout, and then Dean grabbed his throat and pinned him to the wall.

“What the fuck was _that_?!” Dean snarled. “What the _fuck_ did you just do?!”

Eggsy couldn’t answer because he couldn’t breathe. When Dean finally loosened his grip, Eggsy managed to squeak, “Dunno what you’re on about.”

Dean hit him and he saw sparks. “What did you do?!”

“I dunno what you’re fuckin’ on about!”

Dean raised his fist to strike Eggsy again, but mum’s voice suddenly snapped out, “What is going on here?”

Dean whirled, but did not let go. Eggsy tried to breathe carefully and quietly, and ignore the sharp pain in his cheekbone. Mum stood in the doorway, cradling Daisy against her chest protectively. She looked both confrontational and frightened as she took in the scene.

“Did you know about this?” Dean snarled.

“I only just got home, I don’t know what you mean,” mum replied, and neither her voice nor her stare wavered.

Dean’s fingers twitched around Eggsy’s throat. “He… _changed_ ,” the older man forced out. Eggsy heard fear in his tone. “He changed into a fuckin’ _dog_.”

“That’s silly,” mum retorted frankly. “I told you not to watch that American television. Please put him down.”

No implications that it was just his imagination; no talk of drinking too much. Dean’s grip on Eggsy slowly loosened, as the husband stared at the wife. “I _saw_ it,” he insisted, but he sounded uncertain.

“Maybe Eggsy snuck that dog in again. Babe?”

Eggsy did his best to look sullen. “It’s my dog,” he mumbled around an aching throat. “I should get to take care of it.” Then he made a faint, muffled whining noise, as if there was a small animal hidden somewhere in the room.

“We can talk this out,” mum prodded gently. “Come on, let’s all go sit down.”

Still wary and glaring, Dean followed her out of Eggsy’s room and to the couch. Eggsy himself pretended to shoo something away back under his bed, and stepped out, closing his door quietly behind him. The latch was broken from Dean’s kick, but it held, barely.

Mum curled up on her corner of the couch, Daisy still in her arms. The baby sucked her fist, watching the adults with wide, worried eyes. She was just a baby. She shouldn’t be worried. Eggsy felt horrible for bringing such trouble into her life so young. He took the chair, and after a moment, Dean sat on the arm of the couch, as far from Eggsy as he could get.

“Babe, did you bring that dog back?” mum asked.

“Yeah,” Eggsy muttered sullenly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I was gonna put ‘im out again soon as he was done playing with Daisy, swear.”

Dean’s mouth tightened. Mum continued, without haste, “You should’ve asked, babe. You always gotta ask.”

“Both of you would’ve said no!” Eggsy burst out, head snapping up to glare at both his mother and his stepfather, the image of a defensive child. “Why can’t I have a pet? I said I’d take care of it!”

Mum sighed, looking sad and distressed. “We’ve had this conversation before. You en’t—“

“Where is it?” Dean interrupted suddenly.

Eggsy set his jaw and glared defiantly straight back, but said nothing.

“I’ll find it, then.” Dean stood and stomped to the injured door—

Eggsy was up and across the room in seconds, standing with his back against the door, arms spread to block Dean from entering. “You ain’t taking ‘im anywhere!”

“I’ll take it to the canal in a fucking sack, I en’t havin’ a filthy stinkin’ animal in my house!”

“You don’t get to—“

“Boys, please—“

There was a knock at the door.

Silence fell like a guillotine, cutting off everyone, as all eyes turned to the front entrance.

Dean was the first to move. Slowly, he walked across the flat. The knock came once more; it was a polite tap, something you might be taught special for formal calls. Dean looked through the peephole, muttered an oath, and yanked open the portal.

Mum inhaled sharply. Eggsy’s heart lurched, as a familiar smoky scent reached him.

“Hello,” said the man in a suit calmly, his hands resting lightly on the handle of his umbrella. “My name is Harry Hart. I’m here for Eggsy.”

~~~\0/~~~

“You ain’t a tailor.”

Mr. Hart’s eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. “Is it that obvious?” he replied dryly.

Eggsy, squashed into the far corner of the cab, stared at him.

Mr. Hart sighed, and shut the little window between the back and the front of the cab, so the driver couldn’t hear them. “To be honest, I only said that to get your stepfather out of the way. Do you remember me at all?”

“I saw you when we was coming home from the kennel a couple months back.”

“Kennels are always a harrowing experience. No, I mean earlier than that.”

Eggsy continued to stare at the impassive face before him, but no memories came to him. His gaze dropped, to Mr. Hart’s hands—and the little gold ring caught his eye.

A gold ring—shiny black shoes—square tortoiseshell glasses.

_“Take care of your mum.”_

Oh yes. He remembered.

“You were the one who told mum that dad was…” Eggsy began, but couldn’t finish, because he was battling a surge of conflicting emotions.

“Yes,” Mr. Hart said softly.

“So you knew dad was…”

“Yes,” Mr. Hart repeated, softer still.

Eggsy looked out the window to hide his expression. A ‘shifter who knew his father. Who knew that Lee Unwin was also a ‘shifter. “Were you in the army together?”

“Yes. He saved my life.”

He shut his eyes tightly for a moment and took a slow, deep breath. “Why are you here?” he muttered. “Why did you—why did I _let_ you get me out of there?”

“Because you were in trouble, and I owe your father. Let’s have a drink and talk somewhere more comfortable.”

~\0/~

The Black Prince wasn’t what Eggsy would call “comfortable”, but it would do. And Mr. Hart seemed to be quite at home; although Eggsy assumed he’d be at home anywhere, from a warzone to St. James’. Maybe it was the way he drank his ale, or how his posture was relaxed, or…

Eggsy shook himself mentally. He knew exactly what was happening, and it was maddening. He would _not_ become infatuated. He _refused_ to be appreciative of the man who got his father killed.

“So was you an officer in the army?” Eggsy asked warily.

“Not quite,” Mr. Hart answered calmly.

“Where was you posted?”

“Sorry, Eggsy, classified.”

He had a feeling every detail was going to be classified. “But my dad saved your life, eh?”

Mr. Hart took a sip of beer, probably to obscure his expression. Eggsy understood that, and did not feel any annoyance. When the glass was once again resting on the table, Mr. Hart met Eggsy’s eyes levelly and answered, “The day your father died, I missed something. And if it wasn’t for his courage, my mistake would have cost the lives of every man present.” His eyes grew shadowed. “Your father was a brave man. A good man.”

Eggsy knew that already, but didn’t say anything. He was too busy resisting the urge to stand up and comfort this stranger to tell him so.

The urge to comfort him vanished when his face hardened and he added, “And I believe he’d be bitterly disappointed in the choices you’ve made.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” Eggsy protested, sitting bolt upright. No, no, they were supposed to be reminiscing together, not talking about Eggsy’s many and varied failures! And what did this—this _tailor_ know about him anyway?! “It ain’t my fault Dean caught me! I’ve never let him—“

“That’s not what I was referring to. Huge IQ, great performance at primary school… then it all went tits up.”

“Not my fault,” Eggsy muttered through gritted teeth. “It was the shifting, it—it—“

“That’s no excuse. Your father never let it stop him; why should you?”

“What do you know? You don’t know shit about me!”

“I do, though. Drugs, petty crime, never had a job…”

“You think there’s a lot of jobs goin’ round here, do ya?”

“Whatever happened to gymnastics? Your coach had you pegged as Olympic team material.”

“Well, when you grow up ‘round someone like my stepdad—“

“Of course, always someone else’s fault.”

Why was his chest aching? Why was his throat tight? Why couldn’t he talk back properly?

“Who’s to blame for you quitting the Marines?”

No. He didn’t have to sit here and listen to this shit. He stood sharply and took a step towards the door—

He didn’t even see Mr. Hart move, but suddenly there was an umbrella across his chest, blocking him from walking any further, and Mr. Hart said, ever so calmly, “Sit down, Eggsy. We haven’t finished our drinks.”

~~~\0/~~~

On the way home, Harry went over the interview in his head, and was unsatisfied. Eggsy had been sullen, overly emotional, and prone to anger. These were not desirable qualities in a candidate. He was, however, passionate, articulate—

Or were Harry’s positive assessments skewed? He did not want to believe Lee’s son to be unfit. He was like his father in so many respects; why not this one?

And he was a shapechanger. Of all the outcomes of Lee and Michelle’s genes mixing, to create another shapechanger… did they understand the significance? No, of course not; it would be presumptuous and foolish to think mother or son would know. Lee wouldn’t have wanted to tell them. He never told Michelle that his lineage was as pure as Arthur’s, after all.

Harry was torn between bringing the boy in, and leaving him on his own for a time. The point that finally decided him was when he reached his own front door without quite remembering how he got there, and thought suddenly of what that wretched stepfather would do if he caught Eggsy changing.

Harry reached up and tapped the frame of his glasses. “Merlin. What time are the candidates expected?”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy didn’t feel like going home. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, not even his friends. Not even his mum. So he went to the park, and climbed the first tree he could find that would bear his weight, and sat in the branches, watching the city.

He was thinking.

That Hart man… he’d said there were more of them. More shapeshifters. And that not all of them were dogs. Some were cats, or birds, or lizards; some had known since birth, some didn’t know until well into adulthood. But the most important part, the point that Hart had been sure to make clear, was that _they weren’t alone_. And that it _wasn’t_ a hideous mutation, and it _didn’t_ make him an abomination or against nature or any of his secret fears. Shapeshifters were not a dead breed.

Eggsy rubbed his stinging eyes on his sleeve and muttered curses at himself. It shouldn’t make him so happy to know that an undisclosed number of people that he might have passed on the street had the same secret as him. It should make him wary. It should make him doubt everything he knew about himself and those like him.

But it didn’t. It made him want to jump out of the tree, run to the nearest street corner, and shout the good news, and see how many people reacted favorably. He’d be locked up for sure if he did that, though.

Maybe he _would_ go to that tailor’s shop, Kingsman. Maybe he would ask for a job there. Wasn’t that what Hart had been hinting at, when he said there was a distinct lack of new blood in Kingsman? And that would prove one of his accusations wrong. Eggsy was _not_ too bitter and angry to care. He was just… tired.

Tired. Eggsy rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead on the heels of his palms. How could he be tired? He’d barely _done_ anything with himself and his life. And now this man, this ‘shifter—Harry Hart walks into his life and makes an offer he can hardly refuse. How can he let himself be tired when he finally has a chance again? Because it isn’t about ‘letting’ himself be tired, it’s about feeling stagnated and stagnant, ashamed and afraid, locked up and lost, all at the same time. He needs a change. He’s been offered one. He’s going to take it.

“The fuck you doin’ up there?”

Eggsy’s head snapped up as his eyes snapped open, and he stared down at the five men ringing his chosen tree, staring right back up at him. It had begun to grow dark, but he could still see their faces, ranging from surprised to angry to scornful. Rottweiler presided, scowling fiercely as he spoke to the treed young man.

“You come down right now,” Rott ordered. “Dean wants a word wiv you.”

“What, he didn’t want to show his ugly face in public, so he sent you lot?” Eggsy retorted scornfully, as alarm bells in the back of his head screamed for him to shut up and do as he was told. “Typical.”

“Don’t make this any worse for yourself than it already is,” Rott threatened.

“No.” Eggsy’s heart was beating very fast, and his every nerve was trembling. What was he doing?! Well, he wanted to make a change in his life, so he might as well start now. Right?

The goons all looked at each other. Then Terrier grabbed a branch and pulled himself up with a grunt, and began to climb up to Eggsy—

Who wasn’t there, because he’d ‘shifted as soon as he realized what Terrier was doing. Now the little dog that used to be Eggsy fell out of the tree, rolled, picked himself up, and ran.

~\0/~

Stupid, stupid, STUPID!

Eggsy huddled under a bush, trembling, and waited. Dean’s dogs were searching the park, calling to one another in shaky voices. Rott had his hat clenched in one shaking fist. Eggsy knew it was shaking, because Rott was standing right next to Eggsy’s cover and apparently didn’t know it. Eggsy could also smell something sharp and acrid—it must be fear.

“Where the fuck _is_ the little bastard?”

“Uh, Rott? Shouldn’t we tell Dean about…?”

“D’you really think he’ll believe us? Just find him!”

Eggsy tried to make himself even smaller, presser closer to the cold ground, scrunching himself up as much as possible. He’s not there, don’t look, don’t see, he’s not there, don’t look, don’t see, he’s not there, don’t—

A musky, smoky scent. A jolt in his stomach. Eggsy nearly barked, in warning or joy, he couldn’t quite decide. Slowly, nonchalantly, Harry Hart strolled into view, gazing around the park mildly.

“Have you lost something?” he asked Rottweiler.

“Fuck off, grandad,” Rott snapped back, only paying partial attention.

Eggsy saw Hart’s expression shift minutely, but he couldn’t tell what it had changed to. Rott noticed that Hart hadn’t moved, and snarled, “Didn’t you hear me? Fuck off!”

Hart sighed quietly and gazed up at the darkened sky. “Has this generation really forgotten?” he murmured contemplatively. “’Manners maketh man’. Do you know what that means?”

Now all the dogs were gathering, in a ring around Hart. Some looked confused, others angry. Eggsy shrank even more, and began calculating how hard he’d have to charge to knock Rott off his feet.

“No?” Hart shifted his grip on his umbrella. “Then let me teach you a lesson.”

~~~\0/~~~

Harry draped the discarded jacket over the shivering corgi on the seat beside him and sighed. “Sorry about that. Needed to let off a little steam. Yesterday I heard a friend of mine died.”

The corgi continued to stare at him, wide-eyed. Perhaps he hadn’t expected an old man like Harry to still have some fight in him. Well, he’d have to get used to the idea if he wanted to be a Kingsman. Presuming he _did_ want to be a Kingsman. There was the chance that, having seen Harry in action as it were, he’d decide it wasn’t worth it.

But he had fire in him. He had promise. He deserved better.

Harry tried not to think too much about why he felt so protective of the boy. It would only lead to trouble.

They sat in silence all the way to the shop. Harry opened doors courteously, carrying the castoff clothing (except the hat, balanced precariously on the corgi’s head) neatly folded over one arm. Eggsy crossed every threshold warily, and slunk under the table under the window to peer around the shop. Harry waited a moment for the other to adjust before saying, “There are fitting rooms, if you would like to change back now.”

Eggsy crept out from under the table and stared up at Harry for a moment, then nodded stiffly. Harry led the way to fitting room one, set the pile of clothes on the chair, and turned to leave—but Eggsy, being quite short, grabbed Harry’s trouser leg with his teeth and was dragged about a foot before Harry realized what he was doing.

“I would really rather not,” Harry told him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Eggsy did not let go. His stance was tense and uncertain, but when Harry tugged, he could not free himself.

Harry sighed heavily. Then he stepped back into the fitting room and closed the door, but remained facing the portal. The corgi let go of his trouser leg and presumably changed, because clothing rustled and Harry had the vague sense of a body only a little smaller than his occupying the fitting room. The room seemed suddenly very small.

Oh no. Oh, god, not now. Did he still have his medication? Yes, in his jacket’s inner pocket, he had a tin with a few pills left. He took two, and just as he was tucking the tin back in his pocket he heard a nervous little noise behind him. He turned, and even as the pills hit his stomach, he looked at Eggsy and thought, ‘I wouldn’t mind if it was with him, I think.’

But that was a horrible thing to think. So instead he said, “Have you thought about my offer?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy replied. His cheeks seemed a bit pink, and his hands were clenched at his sides; but his expression was fiercely determined. “I got nothin’ to lose. I’m in.”

Harry stepped forward and past him, and pressed his hand against the mirror.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy was dizzy with questions, and on the shuttle, he got answers.

Kingsman was not a tailor shop—or, it wasn’t _just_ a tailor shop. It was a privatized spy agency, “operating at the highest level of discretion,” and very old. And they were comprised entirely of ‘shifters—“shapechangers”, Harry called them.

“Are they all dogs?” Eggsy asked warily.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched. “Only we agents,” he answered. “We have… other departments. They are less… selective.”

“They ain’t snobs.”

“No.”

Eggsy grinned suddenly as a thought occurred to him. But even when Harry raised an eyebrow, he could not bring himself to share it. He was strangely reluctant to insult Mr. Hart in any way. So he held his tongue, and soon Harry continued his explanations.

Eggsy was not the only candidate. There were others, and they would be training and competing to see who would join Kingsman as Lancelot. Eggsy must stay on his guard; the others…

“Snobs and dogs.”

“Yes.”

There was more, about exactly what Kingsman did, and how they worked with various governments as well as simply investigating suspicious activity that they happened to catch on to; but Eggsy couldn’t remember every detail. Harry seemed determined to tell him everything, perhaps to get him caught up? Whatever the reason, it was almost intimidating. Almost.

“Did your father ever tell your mother about us?”

“I… don’t think so,” Eggsy answered slowly, scowling faintly as he thought. “I mean, she knew he was a ‘shifter, but he was in the Marines. He wasn’t… was he an agent?”

“No,” Harry replied quietly. “Not yet. He would’ve been, though. And then he could have told you both everything.”

“He was in training.”

“Yes.”

Something hard and hot and ferocious grew in Eggsy’s chest. It felt like anger, but it was far too strong, and far too pure. It was unadulterated hatred, unthinking rage, and it frightened him. He could not let it show. He had to dispel it somehow. He looked around the shuttle, fidgeted, couldn’t think of anything. He was starting to shake. No. No, keep it down, keep it down.

“We had to bring him. Arthur ordered it.”

Harry’s voice had turned bitter and angry—but only the tiniest amount. Not enough to assuage the blind rage. Eggsy stared hard at Harry, who stared right back. There was no reading his face, but Eggsy thought—he forced himself to think—he saw a rage that reflected his own in the set of Harry’s jaw, the tightness of his muscles, the sharp glitter in his eyes. It probably was nothing. Eggsy was seeing things. But he wanted so badly for this one snob to be different from the rest. He wanted him to _care_.

Care about _what_?

He didn’t have time to consider that disturbing thought, before the shuttle jolted gently and the door opened. Harry peered out and said, “Shit, we’re late.”

Eggsy almost asked what that was supposed to mean, but Harry was already up and out, crossing the large room to a door on the right-hand wall. Eggsy followed hurriedly—but there was a window, and through the window was a hangar, and sudden memories made him forget Harry and where he was and what he was about to do.

It was a better view than any landscape. Eggsy wanted to press his face and hands against the glass and gaze around like a greedy child in a sweets shop. Maybe it was just memories of all the museums and shows he’d been to as a child that made such a collection of machines so beautiful. Maybe it was the memories of working with them in training for the Marines Maybe it was the hopeful notion that, _if_ he became an agent, and _if_ he was successful, maybe he’d be allowed to play with some of these vehicles.

“Your father had the same look on his face,” Harry murmured, tone wistful. “As did I.”

Eggsy turned, and accidentally smiled. The rage and hate had gone to sleep, calmed by the recollections of happiness and hope. Harry did not smile back, but he looked a little less stern and stiff, and there was an undefinable kind of warmth to him.

And then the moment was passed. Harry turned and opened the door, beckoning for Eggsy to follow. He did, actually feeling a little eager under the eternal caution.

The halls were cold and close, all pale concrete and tile, but Eggsy didn’t mind. It was better than the suffocating warmth of the flat. He still stuck close to Harry, even though they saw no one to challenge his right to be there. He didn’t want to lose his way, either, in the endless sharp corners and nearly imperceptible curves.

Finally, Harry began to slow. They turned another corner, and there, finally, was another living human, standing in front of a dark metal door. He was bald, with the shiniest of scalps, and perhaps a little taller than Harry. He looked very like a particularly stern maths professor, or perhaps a geography teacher. He looked up from his clipboard as Harry and Eggsy appeared, and nodded curtly. “Ah, Galahad,” he greeted Harry.

“My codename,” Harry explained, before Eggsy had a chance to do more than frown.

The corner of the bald man’s mouth twitched. “Late again, sir.”

Harry looked particularly inscrutable. Eggsy suppressed a snort. “Good luck,” Harry said.

“In you go,” said the bald man.

Eggsy braced himself, took a breath, and stepped through the last door.


	2. Lessons begin

“You do know that this is fairly dangerous,” Merlin reminded Harry, even as he inserted the needle into his friend’s arm and pressed the plunger.

“Anything to avoid Arthur’s stupidity about the continuation of my line,” Harry retorted tersely. He looked distinctly pale; then again, he had never liked needles, and after that time in Vienna… But that wasn’t what made Merlin frown.

“He’s not still trying to convince you to go ahead with the child, is he?” he demanded, untying the tourniquet. “I thought he swore to shut up about it.”

“He swore not to bring it up in front of the others,” Harry corrected as he rolled down his sleeve again. “He never promised not to bring it up every time The Issue occurs. And why is it coming so often? It’s only supposed to be twice a cycle.”

“Because you keep putting it off. I told you, it’s a _suppressant_. Just ask for a week-long mission out in the mountains somewhere and don’t take any medicine with you.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “No.”

Merlin tightened his mouth and looked stern, but it didn’t help. He hadn’t expected it to. Harry hated literally everything about being an omega, but he hated being in heat (The Issue, he called it) the most. Nothing Merlin said or did would convince him that a few days without drugs would help more than massive amounts of suppressants. The risk of addiction at this point was nearly 99%--but of course Harry didn’t care.

“How are the candidates faring?” Harry asked.

“It’s only been half a day. Eggsy is showing plenty of intelligence and initiative, though.” Merlin raised one eyebrow. “It was Eggsy you wanted to ask about, wasn’t it?” he added dryly.

Harry did not reply. Instead, he slid off the examination table and put on his jacket, careful of his arm. “I have to go. Standard equipment?”

“As always.” Merlin watched Harry stalk out of the room, and shook his head. Too stiff. That was Harry’s problem. Too much steel in his spine. But if Merlin said such a thing, Harry would probably cut him dead.

He shouldn’t worry about Harry. The stubborn bastard could take care of himself, usually. Merlin tapped his glasses, pulling up the camera in the mess hall. It was a late lunch, and all the candidates were wolfing it down like they hadn’t eaten in days. Merlin could not help but compare Eggsy’s conduct with that of the other candidates; he kept one arm around his plate, as if he were used to guarding it, and he ate more and faster than anyone else. His manners were atrocious, as well.

“You’re going to choke if you keep eating that fast,” Roxy commented.

Eggsy made a mumbled reply, but did not slow down.

Merlin tapped his glasses again, and the images and sounds blitzed out.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy had done better in the first physical tests than he’d expected himself to. He was not the best, and he was disheartened by the choosing of puppies, but he had kept up. JB was a good puppy, just… very small.

But surely he’d do better in the classwork. Surely.

Merlin came and collected the candidates, and led them to a large room with many desks, and told them all to sit. But then, instead of going to the front of the room, Merlin stood by the door, tapping on his clipboard and occasionally peering out into the hall. Nobody fidgeted. They were all wary of Merlin, and some were frightened by him. Eggsy was not. He had dealt with worse. But he was still careful.

Just as Merlin was checking his watch, the candidates heard a voice outside the room say, “Sorry I’m late. Last minute changes.”

Eggsy straightened in his seat, suddenly on high alert, though he didn’t know why. Merlin raised his eyebrows at whoever was outside. “I see,” he said dryly, and stepped aside. In walked Harry Hart.

A jolt in Eggsy’s stomach, the sudden urge to smile—a familiar face amongst these foreign enemies! It didn’t seem to matter that he had only known of Harry’s existence for a day and a half; Eggsy still felt as comforted as if it had been mum walking through the door. And that was exactly the wrong kind of emotion to show.

His nose twitched. There was something wrong with Harry’s smell.

But Harry did not seem to notice Eggsy’s sharpened attention, nor did he give any indication that he recognized Eggsy or any of the other candidates. He stood at the front of the room with his hands behind his back and surveyed them all, giving each a look so penetrating it felt quite as if he were searching their souls. Eggsy waited tensely (and… excitedly?) for Harry to get to him, but he never did. His eyes stopped on Digby, and he said coldly, “Fix your collar.”

“What?” Digby said, nervously confused.

“Your collar. Fix it.”

Digby slowly raised his hands and adjusted his collar. Only when it was absolutely perfect did Harry nod once and look away. Eggsy glanced down at himself; his collar was even more awry than Digby’s, and there was a stain on his front from where he’d spilled gravy at lunch. But Harry ignored him and his crooked collar, which, oddly, was disappointing.

“My name is Galahad,” Harry introduced himself to the candidates. “I will be your instructor for today; your supply teacher, while Bors is busy. I will be teaching you conversation.”

Eggsy glanced to Roxy, sitting beside him. She shrugged ever so slightly, frowning a little. Conversation? Wasn’t that just talking?

Apparently not according to Harry.

‘Conversation’ included, not only which topics were the most neutral by region and company, but how to address whoever you were speaking to, from an emperor to a coal miner to a dictator to a child, when to address them, how to listen politely even when you wanted to punch them, how to enter and exit conversation gracefully and politely, how to flirt in a gentlemanly—or ladylike—manner, how to conceal true intentions, and many, many other things. All the candidates took copious notes, and while some looked pained or annoyed or panicky, Roxy’s face was alive with interest, and Eggsy could have listened to Harry all day and night. He made it _interesting_. Things that would have been tedious and intimidating were presented as logic puzzles, games to win, and Eggsy was always down for that kind of thinking.

Charlie raised his hand when Harry paused to let them take notes, and when Harry raised an eyebrow, Charlie asked, quite haughtily, “What if we already know all this?”

Eggsy would have expected more sullen or resentful looks tossed Charlie’s way, but no. Most of the other candidates gave him disbelieving, almost grudgingly admiring looks; but not Eggsy and Roxy, and certainly not Harry, whose cold, hard stare would have reduced anyone to crumbs and dust.

“If you already know it, perhaps you could tell the class how to divert a nuclear war with three words and one raised eyebrow,” he challenged dryly.

Charlie stared back, startled. Then he looked uncertain, and then, as Harry waited patiently, he looked chagrined, and returned his gaze to his exercise book.

“What is the polite thing to say when one is conversing with a superior and speaks out of line?” Harry asked.

“I apologise for my rudeness. I was out of line.” Charlie’s neck was tight and tense, but he spoke with the proper humble respect. Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think you meant that,” he said softly, in a very dangerous tone of voice. “I shall repeat the question: what is the polite thing to say when one is conversing with a superior and speaks out of line?”

“I apologise,” Charlie repeated. Now he sounded nervous, and Eggsy felt a kind of fierce satisfaction. “I—I was out of line. Please forgive me.”

“Better. Now, as I was saying before the interruption—which you must never do, by the way…”

So smoothly it was like he’d been waiting for the opportunity, Harry slid into how to apologise for insubordination, and had each of them stand and deliver an apology for differing situations. When it was Eggsy’s turn, and all eyes were on him, Harry asked, “What does one say when one has interrupted a superior delivering a beating that is not justified?”

Eggsy’s hands curled into fists, and automatically he said, “Excuse me, dickhead, but you’re being impolite. Then you beat the shit out of them.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “Incorrect, but I’ll take it. Sit.”

Eggsy did, slowly, surprised and fighting not to show it. Well, considering how he’d reacted to being told to fuck off, it wasn’t that surprising that Harry would agree… but that wasn’t the point of the exercise. Was it?

The lesson on conversation was three hours long. At the end of those three hours, Harry simply said, “And that concludes today’s lesson. Good luck,” and left the room.

Slowly, everyone turned to stare at Eggsy. He stared back, annoyed and nonplussed. “What?” he snapped.

“Why did he keep letting _you_ off like that?” Rufus demanded sulkily.

“Like what?” Eggsy replied testily. He really hadn’t noticed any difference in treatment between him and the others, except that Harry had ignored Eggsy most of the lesson. Was he disappointed in Eggsy already? That wouldn’t be fair, barely giving him a chance and then deciding he wasn’t good enough.

“He didn’t even look at you most of the time,” Charlie pointed out, looking torn between smugness and irritation.

Eggsy wanted to say something along the lines of “don’t remind me, you twat,” but that would not be Polite Conversation. So instead he said, “It doesn’t matter. He—“

Merlin stepped in, and everyone snapped to attention. “Lesson one, well begun,” Merlin announced, almost but not quite smirking. “Pick up your pencils. We’re going to discuss shapechanging.”

Eggsy sat up a little straighter. Yes, this is what he most needed to know. Hopefully Merlin would explain it simply—

No such luck. Merlin was thorough, and Eggsy took many notes, but their instructor was assuming they already knew the history of shapechanging in Europe—and Eggsy knew nothing. So he was lost on half the points, frantic on a quarter, and frustrated with all of it.

But he couldn’t ask him to stop, to slow down, to explain, because they were on a strict schedule and the others acted like they had no trouble with any of it. Eggsy felt more and more desperate the longer the lesson went on. And then he realized it wasn’t a lesson at all, but just another test; and that was when he most felt like throwing down his pencil and walking out.

He couldn’t do that, though. He couldn’t. He’d committed to this; he could not back out.

So he wrote, and listened, and fought a familiar misery that he hadn’t even known he’d lost.

After that, Merlin handed each youngster a packet of papers and told them they had an hour to complete them. Eggsy looked at the first page, and his heart sank. Maths. And not the kind he’d learned in school, the kind you learn in a university—where most of his fellow candidates must have been before they were chosen. Eggsy was not precisely good at maths, but he wasn’t horrible at it either; surely he could muddle through, do the bits he knew, guess on the ones he _might_ know. Surely that would be good.

Many of the questions were left blank, and of those that he answered, he was only certain of a few. It had been four years, after all, since he’d last practiced any of this. And his confidence was already weakened; one more blow and he was sure it would shatter.

“Now, off to supper with you all,” Merlin announced when he had received the last test. “And it will be a _formal_ supper.”

No one dared groan or protest, though Eggsy could sense that they were all just as tired as he was. Personally, he was not hungry. He’d had more food at lunch than he’d ever been allowed before, and all the confusion had quite ruined his appetite. He’d rather go to bed. Just… go to bed and sleep it off.

So when they all stood and filed to the formal dining room, led by Merlin, Eggsy slowed to let everyone get a little ahead of him and pick up JB, and when they passed a darkened hall, he slipped into the shadows and walked silently down a ways.

“And where, exactly, do you think you’re going?” asked a familiar voice.

Eggsy whirled, JB squeaking surprise, and felt himself smile. No, that was wrong, he shouldn’t smile like that. “Harry!” he blurted—but softly, softly. “I thought—I mean, I was just—I’m not very hungry.”

“You should still practice politeness,” Harry pointed out, stepping further out of the shadows. He looked very strange without his glasses and umbrella. Less like a knight and more like a gentleman. Eggsy did not want to, but he stepped closer, and shifted JB to cuddle the pug to his chest. The puppy sniffed the air curiously in Harry’s direction, then shrank back against Eggsy.

“Pretty dog,” Harry commented.

“Thanks,” Eggsy mumbled, looking down. JB looked up and pawed at his chin. “His name’s JB.”

“Jack Bauer.”

Eggsy raised his eyes again, startled. “Yeah. How did you…?”

“Lucky guess. May I?” When Eggsy nodded, Harry stepped forward and offered his fingers to JB, who sniffed them thoroughly before wagging his tiny tail and letting Harry scratch his soft little ears.

Again, that odd taint to Harry’s smell, almost sweet, almost sour; before he could stop himself, Eggsy blurted, “Are you sick?”

The tiny curves at the ends of Harry’s mouth flattened. He took his hand away immediately and took a step back. “Why do you ask?”

“You just—you smell—off.”

“Smell?”

“Yeah.”

Harry’s expression was inscrutable as he simply stared at Eggsy for a moment. Then he asked, “How did you enjoy Merlin’s lecture?”

Eggsy wanted to change the subject back—seriously, are you alright?—but he decided to let it go, and tell the truth. “I didn’t. I barely understood half of what he was saying. Seriously, how the fuck is anyone supposed to know the particulars of medieval Spanish shapeshifting if they haven’t been studying since they were fuckin’ toddlers?”

“I assure you, half of your fellows had less of an idea than you do.” Harry picked up something off a small table holding an abstract sculpture; a stack of notebooks, all looking a bit battered and old, but still neat and unmarred. He held the pile out to Eggsy, who hesitated, then moved JB to the crook of his arm to accept the books. “Read those, try to memorize them. And don’t show them to anyone.” Then Harry turned and began to walk away.

“Wait,” Eggsy blurted, lurching forward and dropping the notebooks back on the table to grab Harry’s sleeve. Harry turned, surprised—and Eggsy caught a wave of Harry’s scent that made his head spin and his heart thud faster. A blink, another breath, and he was stable again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.” Harry gripped Eggsy’s wrist and pushed his hand away, more gently than Eggsy had expected. “You take those to the barracks. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Eggsy nodded mutely. Harry gave the tiniest of bows and walked away, and gave the tiniest of waves as he turned the corner.

Eggsy gathered up the notebooks and went quietly and thoughtfully down to the barracks.

~~~\0/~~~

“Why weren’t you out tracking our wayward professor?”

“I was ill.” Harry poked at his steak, but felt no inclination to eat it.

Arthur frowned sternly at him. “Are you…?”

“No.”

“Well, please do your job tomorrow.”

“I will.”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy read late into the night, ignoring the grumbles around the room about his light being on. They could all fuck off. He was learning while they wasted time sleeping.

The notebooks held the most precise, concise, and logicised version of Merlin’s lecture Eggsy could’ve hoped for. Some bits were still beyond him, but they were few. As he read, he copied notes into his own books; he’d have to give Harry’s back at some point after all. He didn’t want to. But he had to anyway.

When he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, he stuffed all the books into his tiny locker, hid the key under his pillow, and snuggled down with JB to sleep.

~\0/~

“Where were you at supper?” Roxy asked softly, as they belly-crawled under barbed wire.

“Wasn’t hungry,” Eggsy grunted, spitting out a glob of mud. These obstacle courses were reminding him forcefully of the Marines, and in the Marines, you did not talk when training. You did what your drill sergeant shouted for you to do, and you kept your mouth shut about it.

Roxy rolled her eyes and turned her head to chirp to her poodle, who was crawling just a little slower than her. JB was tucked in Eggsy’s vest; Eggsy could feel his tail twitching wildly. “You’re enjoying yourself too much,” he muttered to his puppy-friend.

Roxy snorted.

After a morning of running, crawling, climbing, running some more, hand-to-hand combat, and yet more running, the candidates were sent back inside for a shower and lunch. Eggsy washed JB at the sinks while he waited for his turn at the shower, grinning as JB splashed and yipped. Roxy, as the unofficial queen of the candidates, commanded respect and privacy; all the boys kept their eyes averted as she washed, and nobody even thought of peeking in any kind of reflective surface. Eggsy was allowed to wash at the same time as her, though he kept his back to her and avoided looking in the mirror. (Merlin had assured them all that it had been replaced with a proper one after Eggsy had broken it, but none of them truly believed him.)

Lunch was, again, a quiet affair, except for the muffled sounds of ten young adults stuffing themselves, and the chomping noises of their puppies. Eggsy forced himself to finish before everyone else, and before Roxy could stop him, he was out of his seat and out of the mess, tucking JB back in the front of his uniform so he wouldn’t be left behind.

His plan was to gather the books he’d finished and then… what? Go to Merlin and ask if he knew where Harry was? Ask if Merlin could return the books in Eggsy’s place? No, he couldn’t speak to his instructor about this. Harry might get in trouble. Maybe he’ll get lucky and he’ll just be there when—

Eggsy turned the corner and Harry was standing in front of the barracks door.

“Hello, Eggsy,” Harry said calmly.

“Hi,” Eggsy said.

“Have you finished them?”

“Just the first few. You want them back?”

“Yes, please.”

Eggsy nodded and opened the door, glancing at Harry.

“Agents are not allowed in the barracks,” Harry explained.

Eggsy nodded again, and left the door ajar as he went to his little locker and retrieved the notebooks Harry had lent him. JB, still tucked in Eggsy’s uniform, squeaked in protest as Eggsy crouched, so he knelt instead. When he had sorted which books were which, he turned on his knees—and Harry was standing in the middle of the room, looking around with an odd expression on his face. Eggsy felt the strangest little flip-flop sensation in his chest.

“I thought you said you weren’t allowed,” he made himself say.

“I’m not,” Harry answered absently, staring at the mirror. “It’s been… a long time.” Then he looked at Eggsy, and the odd expression changed; equally unreadable, but different. “Why is JB in your shirt?” he asked.

“Hands-free transport,” Eggsy explained, standing carefully and walking over to hold out the books. Maybe he took a step too close; he was feeling a little dizzy again, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable, in a strangely excited way. But Harry showed no sign of noticing anything off, and accepted the notebooks with a single vaguely amused glance at the content little pug face showing at Eggsy’s collar.

Eggsy had the sudden urge to grab Harry’s hands and—and just hold them. But of course he didn’t. He let his own hands go instead to his chest, supporting JB and trying to tell himself it was only because he missed human contact. He missed sitting with his mother and sister. He missed hugging and playing with Daisy. Only two days, and he misses them so much it hurts.

“Why are you…” Harry shifted his books to the crook of one arm and pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. “You shouldn’t do that,” he scolded Eggsy sternly, holding out the square of cloth.

Eggsy stared at him, confused. Then he realized there were wet tracks on his face, and the odd foggy quality to his sight actually had a cause.

“Sorry,” he said—it came out a croak. He couldn’t bring himself to take Harry’s handkerchief, raising his arm to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. “I don’t—I’m not—I mean—“

Harry made a small noise of annoyance and stepped closer, pushing his arm away and wiping Eggsy’s cheeks and eyes for him. Eggsy jumped and tried to step back, but the dizziness was back, and if he didn’t stand his ground he’d probably fall.

“You’re too old to cry,” Harry chided, almost gently.

“I know,” Eggsy muttered, wanting to look away from Harry’s face, not quite daring to. If he looked away, he’d fall apart. He had to hold together. Had to prove he was strong enough.

“Eggsy?” Roxy’s voice called from the corridor. Harry stepped back immediately, shoving his handkerchief inside his jacket, and Eggsy swallowed further tears. “Eggsy, it’s almost time for—Oh. Hello.”

“Hello,” Harry greeted Roxy, standing in the doorway.

There was an awkward silence. Eggsy broke it by saying to Harry, “Thanks for the info,” and hurrying out of the room. Roxy almost stopped him, then sighed and stepped out of his way.

Eggsy wished one of them would stop him.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry was having trouble calming down. Strange emotions were roiling through him, and he had the uneasy thought that they were connected somehow to Eggsy. Damn. He probably needed more medication.

The female candidate—what was her name? Roxanne, that was it—sniffed the air, frowning. Harry shifted his notebooks, and started for the door, aiming past her; she moved into the middle of the doorway and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Merlin said agents weren’t allowed in the barracks,” she stated.

“He is correct,” Harry replied.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I lent Eggsy something and now I am taking it back.”

Roxanne tilted her head a little, narrowing her eyes at him. “You lent him those journals?” she asked.

Harry did not even twitch. “Yes.”

“That was kind of you.”

“He needed assistance.”

“Ah.” Roxanne continued to eye him most insolently for a moment, then nodded, turned, and left.

Harry let out a low, slow breath. Thank god she hadn’t pushed. He’d hate to give anything away, either through answering her or refusing to. Although, she seemed to have made an assumption already, one he did not think was in any way correct. These young alphas, always thinking the worst of people… Well, a few anyway. Some—

Harry stopped that thought right there, and marched briskly out of the barracks. He had a mission to complete.

~~~\0/~~~

The instructor in the Fine Art of Conversation that day was not Galahad. Instead, the calm, relaxed man at the front of the room introduced himself as Bors.

“I’m sure Galahad tried his best,” he told them all (Eggsy bristled for a moment, and then wondered why), “But he’s a bit… brisk. Today will be slower.”

There were near-inaudible sighs of relief all around, except from Eggsy and Roxy. They shared a disappointed look; they’d both been hoping for another whirlwind lecture. But you can’t have everything, and Bors was a good teacher. He explained everything thoroughly, and if he used more words and metaphors and superfluous examples, well, at least none of it was irrelevant. And it gave everyone a point of view they understood.

Eggsy grudgingly admitted to himself that, yes, Bors was a much better teacher than Harry. Less interesting, but a better teacher. The only way he was in any way inferior was that he did not have everyone stand and deliver an example reply to a given situation.

When Bors left, Merlin came in, tapping his ever-present clipboard with his pen. He looked at them all, nodded, and said, “Today we will discuss the alpha-beta-omega system as it pertains to shapechanging.”

Alpha-beta-omega? Wasn’t that a fanfiction thing? Eggsy almost said it aloud, but he didn’t quite dare. He’d never looked it up; he just knew from Ryan, who was a fanfic snob, that it was considered a ‘kink’. Ryan didn’t like it. It made him uncomfortable. Eggsy had laughed at him for being so childish as to hate something just because it wasn’t his cup of tea.

“Alpha-beta-omega originated in the pop culture sphere, as a trope in fan writing. It is assumed by most of the shapechanging community that the originator of the system is a shapechanger themselves, which would explain why it fits so well. The basic premise is simple, but the particulars can be quite complicated…”

Merlin then began to give them a complete rundown of the history of the ABO system, the ways it reflected and influenced modern shapechanging dynamics, and the many philosophical debates surrounding the various elements of it. He was quick to assure everyone that the term ‘alpha’ had been in use in the pack-changer communities since Roman times, but that beta and omega were a result of ABO. Previously in Britain, they had had no names, and were simply called an alpha’s pack. There had been no distinction between those who bore children and those who didn’t.

“The Kingsman pack structure is as follows: Arthur is our Alpha, although there are some, like me, who are also of the alpha category. The rest are beta. We have one omega, and since he already has plenty of trouble with the others, I’m not telling you who it is.”

Something clicked, and Eggsy sat bolt upright, mouth open to blurt the answer—but he silenced himself and sunk down again almost immediately. Too late, though; everyone had seen, and now they were all staring. He scowled right back, suddenly rather nervous and not quite understanding why.

“I know who you’re thinking,” Merlin commented dryly, “And you are correct.”

“What, you were sponsored by a fuckin’ _omega_?” Charlie drawled, his tone and sneer scornful as he turned in his seat to look at Eggsy.

Eggsy’s fists clenched and a thick, blood-scented rage rose in his chest. He fought it valiantly and managed to turn a challenge to a fight to the death into nothing more than a threatening growl. Everyone leaned away from him except Roxy, who was also glaring at Charlie, but with a kind of cold disgust that Eggsy envied.

Merlin hadn’t even twitched, but his own disapproval and annoyance were quite clear on his face and in his voice. “Disrespect towards any ranking agent is not tolerated here,” he snapped, and Charlie faced front in his seat again, with one last bewildered (and frightened?) glance at Eggsy. “Category does not matter. Ability does. If you speak out of turn again, I shall throw you out myself. Is that clear?” Merlin swept his glare over the whole group, and everyone nodded. Except Eggsy. He was still fighting that horrible urge to beat Charlie over the head with a chair until he was nothing more than a bloody smear on the carpet—

All because he’d insulted Harry?

The uneasy thought was enough to shake him free of the bloodlust. He took a breath and paid attention to Merlin.

“You are a mix of alpha and beta, as I’m sure you’re all painfully aware of. It is our policy to never have all of one or the other. In the old days, we were all alpha, and that did not work out well. Details are available in the archives. Moving on…”

Eggsy took notes, and listened, and did all the proper motions; but he was still worrying about his moment of murderous malevolence. Surely there was something wrong with him, to be so enraged so quickly and completely. It wasn’t as if Charlie had been actually threatening Harry. And it wasn’t even necessarily an insult; just because Charlie had a low opinion of omegas didn’t mean it was a bad thing to be. Weren’t they vital to the continuation of the shifter genes? Eggsy had been a fluke. Merlin was explaining that; when a ‘changer mated with a regular human, the child was 99.9% sure to be just as regular. And they were usually beta, the most “human” of the three. Alphas were rare, omegas rarer still. With a piercing look at Charlie, Merlin told the class that, since omegas were few anyway, it was better to prize and protect them, for the continuation of the ‘changer race, than consider them the lowest of the low.

“There are, of course, omegas who are absolutely capable of protecting themselves,” Merlin added, with the ghost of a smirk. “The King Oh, as we call him behind his back, is our best agent. Respect him and you won’t wake up a victim of the blood eagle.”

Some faces were blank. Roxy’s was faintly grossed out. Eggsy swallowed hard. For all his ferociousness, Eggsy simply could not imagine his Harry doing that to anyone.

Wait— _his_ Harry?

He didn’t have time to panic, because Merlin was wrapping up, and finished his lecture with, “And now I believe it is time to break. Muster out.”

Everyone stood and filed out of the room. Eggsy was last, moving slowly as he thought furiously. Possessive terms… protective urges… wanting desperately to see him again…

Oh. Oh no.

“Eggsy? You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Roxy did not look convinced, but just shrugged and led the way to the formal dining room.

~\0/~

Eggsy laid awake for a long time that night, unable to even focus on the notes Harry had lent him. He was going over that day’s lesson, trying to find a hint as to how to tell if he’d really done that thing where you fall in love at once or not. Merlin had not mentioned it. So he’d have to ask. But who would he ask?

He felt a strange itching in his bones. He hadn’t shifted—or changed, as Merlin and Bors had insisted on calling it—for two whole days now. He had to practice. But he couldn’t do it here. Maybe he could go to the indoor training room…

The thought was parent to the deed. Before he could question himself, he was out of bed and creeping silently to the door.

“Where are you going?” Roxy’s voice whispered through the shadows.

“If I don’t tell, you don’t gotta lie,” Eggsy answered softly.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’ll get in trouble.”

“So will you.”

“Yes, but I’ll deserve it. Go back to sleep, I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Promise.”

“Technically it is tomorrow,” Charlie grumbled across the room. “What’re you two whispering about?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Eggsy snapped quietly, growing more and more frustrated by the moment. “Just—stay, please.”

“Are you going to go meet up with him?” Roxy murmured as she sat up in bed.

“No!” Eggsy protested, almost squeaking as he strangled his voice down.

“Meet who?” Charlie demanded, a little louder, propping himself up on his elbow. Roxy and Eggsy both put their fingers to their lips and glared at him, and he lowered his voice, scowling. “Who are you meeting?”

“Nobody! I’m just—I gotta—just go back to bed, both of you!”

“Go back to bed, _all_ of you,” Rufus growled. “Now shut up!”

“You’re one to talk,” Digby answered irritably. “I wanna know where he’s going, too.”

Roxy turned on her light, and Eggsy realized to his horror that everyone was awake and looking at him. “I’m not going anywhere that matters!” he snarled, not bothering to keep his voice down anymore. “Why do _you_ give a fuck?”

An uneasy silence as the boys all glanced around at each other. Roxy sighed. “ _Because_ , you goose, if _you_ get in trouble, _we’ll_ get in trouble,” she explained, with a lot more patience than Eggsy would expect. He looked at her and saw that, truly, she was very annoyed with him. That actually made him feel bad, and doubt his own motives.

But it wasn’t any of their business, and anyway, he wouldn’t get caught. “I’ll be careful. Just—I need to go do something. So go back to bed, and don’t follow me!”

And with that, he whirled and ran.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry had gone down to the salle because he wanted to get as far away from the other agents in residence as possible.

The medication wasn’t working anymore. Harry kept having bad, immoral thoughts, and they only got worse when he caught scent of any alpha. Thankfully, Bors and Percival were beta, and not as aggressive as the others; but Harry didn’t even dare to stay in their presence for long. He’d been staving it off for a full year now, and it was catching up with a vengeance.

Maybe if he just gave in and…

No! No, he didn’t dare. Not with anyone.

So he sat in the salle, cleaning fencing swords, trying to pretend he wasn’t miserable. Maybe Merlin was right. Harry should just go to some isolated place for a week and wait it out.

As he was gloomily weighing the pros and cons of such a plan, the door opened, and Eggsy stepped in.

Grab him, drag him down, rip his clothes off, let him—

Harry mentally slammed those thoughts into a box and locked them with fear. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” he asked calmly.

Eggsy was staring at him, surprised, but not by Harry being somewhere he shouldn’t. Harry’s awareness spread from Eggsy’s face to the rest of him—he’s decent-looking, young and flexible, no stop thinking like that this is Lee’s boy—and he immediately wished it hadn’t. He cleared his throat, and Eggsy blinked.

“Oh—yeah. Yeah, I… what are _you_ doing here?” Eggsy asked.

Harry raised the sword in his hand a little, calling Eggsy’s attention to it. “I couldn’t sleep. I assume you felt the same?”

“Yeah.” Eggsy’s gaze started to slide from the sword to… but he caught himself and looked sharply back up to Harry’s face, his expression determined. “I need to practice ‘shifting. Is there a place for that?”

“You might try the weight room,” Harry suggested.

“C-can I practice here?”

“Of course.” Harry stood, collected his cleaning supplies, and picked up the cluster of weapons he’d been working on. “I think I shall be returning to bed, myself.”

“Oh.”

Was that disappointment in his voice? There wasn’t any on his face when Harry glanced at him sharply. “If you would like a companion, may I suggest fetching one of your fellows?”

Eggsy’s expression suddenly soured. “I don’t want them to get in trouble,” he muttered.

“Then enjoy the peace, because if I know Merlin, you’ll never have a moment more if you’re caught.” Harry walked past Eggsy and made as far as the threshold before Eggsy blurted, “How do I know if I’ve imprinted on someone?”

Oh, no.

Harry’s heart squeezed in sympathy, but he could not show that. So he turned around, and when he saw Eggsy’s face he almost faltered; but he had to say it, or he’d never learn. “You’ll know. But you haven’t imprinted on me. We’re just recruit and recruiter, Eggsy. There is nothing between us, and there never will be. Good night.”

And he left quickly before the dismay and hurt on Eggsy’s face could do more than make him feel incredibly guilty.


	3. Harry is ill

Eggsy did not practice shifting immediately. He sat where Harry had been and put his head in his hands.

It shouldn’t hurt. Harry was right, there was nothing between them and there never would be. It was only a strange fantasy brought on by too much thinking. They barely knew each other, for fuck’s sake.

But they could always get to know each other more. Surely, if they just got to know each other better… No, that was too much like delusion. He couldn’t delude himself just to make Harry into a villain. It was only a small infatuation. It would go away.

Harry wasn’t the villain, though, he was the object of affection. No, not object; he was the person upon whom Eggsy laid his hopes and romantic notions. Why, though? It all came back to that. Why? _Why_ was Eggsy fixated on Harry? Because he’d gotten him out of two terrible situations? Because he’d given him a new reason to fight? Both and more?

This was too much and too unpleasant. Eggsy stood and undressed, then practiced shifting. He managed three times before he exhausted enough to go back to the barracks and sleep.

Everyone was still awake when he slipped through the door. He scowled at them all, suddenly furious—but there was nothing he could do about it. So he shut the door without slamming it and went straight to bed, ignoring Hugo’s hesitant query.

“Let him be,” Roxy told the others firmly as Eggsy crawled into bed and pulled the pillow over his head. “We all need to sleep. Now, good _night_.”

With that decree, the boys obeyed their queen and huddled down under their blankets again. In moments, the restless stirrings of people trying to get comfortable stopped, and the slow, heavy feel of slumber descended gently on the room. JB, woken by his human’s return, crawled up to sneak under the pillow and kiss his cheek, trying to comfort him. Eggsy stroked him gently with one hand, scratching his soft little ears.

~\0/~

Harry had finally tracked down Professor Arnold. He sent Merlin a message asking for a bottle of the emergency pills to be left in the medical bay for pickup, and when he had the bottle in his hand, he headed for London to set up his trap.

~~~\0/~~~

“Change. All of you.”

The candidates all stared at Merlin.

He raised an eyebrow. “I believe I gave you an order, children,” he said softly.

Roxy was the first to move. She stepped forward and unzipped her uniform halfway, keeping it closed modestly over her chest with one hand, and shifted almost instantaneously; one moment she was a small human female, the next, an Irish setter was sitting quite calmly on a shed Kingsman uniform.

Charlie went next, becoming something very large and furry with the kind of droopy mouth that was prone to drool. One by one, the others followed, until instead of a line of humans it was a line of dogs. They were all hunting dogs, large ones, built for taking down prey and keeping it down; and Eggsy was left standing in human shape at the end of the line, fidgeting nervously.

“Eggsy?” Merlin prompted.

“Um…” Eggsy said.

“Get on with it. Kingsman agents are not shy.”

Right. Of course. Because not wanting to be pestered and insulted was ‘shy’. Eggsy took a deep breath and shifted.

He felt very small next to everyone else, being so short and all. They all looked at him, surprised; even Merlin blinked. Eggsy refused to let himself droop. He stood as tall as he could and stared back defiantly.

Before any of the candidates could do or say anything, Merlin set his clipboard on the ground and also shifted. He was tall and leggy and shaggy, and it took a moment for Eggsy to recognize him as a deerhound. He’d have expected something with short fur, seeing as Merlin was so shiny-bald. But perhaps he’d had lots of very nice hair when he was young, and it had simply died out from stress. Now, he looked very wise and knowledgeable, and…

“And now,” Merlin ‘said’, in a dog-like wuffle that Eggsy understood perfectly, “Greet your friends.”

Bors had been standing by a pen in which all the candidate’s puppies had been corralled. Now he opened the door, and the puppies poured out, rushing their humans and barking greetings.

“Egg Egg Egg Egg Egg!”

Eggsy acted instinctively. As soon as he heard that tiny, young voice, he pounced forward, and went down on his forelegs, tail wagging wildly, as JB ran towards him, barking his name excitedly.

“Egg, Egg, let’s play, let’s play!” JB yipped, his voice that of a small child, perhaps just past toddlerhood. He bounced as he ran, and when he ran smack into Eggsy, all the ‘shifter did was laugh and jump over him. Yes, Eggsy will play, he will play just as he used to with Daisy, play with his best friend, who was so happy to see him, to see _him_ —someone was happy to see _him_. It was a wonderful feeling.

“Back in line,” Merlin’s bark ordered, carrying over the excited clamor of the puppies exclaiming about how _finally_ their humans looked like normal creatures. “There is one more test, before we head to the course. I want you all to describe what your parents smell like. Eggsy, you first.”

What? Really? That simple? Eggsy sat down and thought, and then began to speak.

“My mum smells like cigarettes, but it’s only because m’stepdad got her into smoking, and she’s always made up even when she ain’t goin’ anywhere, so she’s got clouds of hairspray and perfume—lily of the valley and rose—and sometimes I can smell the sad on her but it’s only when Dean hits me and she smells like smoke and rain and baby because of my sister and when I was little she smelled like sunlight and—“ And then he stopped himself, and his ears flattened as he realized what he’d just done. JB, sitting next to him, pawed his leg and leaned on him encouragingly.

Again, everyone was staring at him. Merlin wasn’t, though. Merlin turned to Roxy, and said, “Perhaps you can be a little less whimsical.”

“My mother smells cold.” Roxy’s tone was clipped and distant. “My father smokes heavily. That’s all I remember.”

It was similar stories all down the line. No one wanted to admit that they know what their parents smell like. When they were done, Merlin looked at them all, then shook his shaggy head.

“It seems Eggsy is the only one who passes this one,” he declared pensively, but did not explain.

They spent the day doing “team-building exercises”—or, as Eggsy saw it, playing with a purpose. He and JB had a lot of fun, actually, running the course Bors and Merlin had set up. JB couldn’t jump, but he could go through tunnels and up and down teeter-totters; Eggsy could do everything, and even though he wasn’t as graceful or powerful as the others, he still knew this form and what it could do, and he still did it. He had to go slow, for JB, but he didn’t mind. They cheered each other on.

When Merlin was satisfied, they all trooped inside (Bors carried their clothes, neatly folded) and headed for the mess. Merlin had decided to add lessons in table manners at lunch, so they could practice at dinner; but first, they were to learn how to discern different types of dog food. No one was looking forward to that.

As they were trotting down the halls, they were interrupted by a man whose face Eggsy did not recognize, but whose smell was vaguely familiar. This would be the man he had seen Merlin speaking with once or twice, always from a distance. He looked very distressed.

“Merlin,” he addressed the deerhound without hesitation, “We have a problem. It’s Galahad.”

Eggsy stopped dead in his tracks as his heart gave one shuddering thump.

“Stay,” Merlin ordered the candidates, and ducked into a disused room just off the hall. The man whom Eggsy couldn’t name took the pile of Merlin’s clothes from Bors and followed, but came right back out again, glancing around the group of young pups who watched him with curiosity. All except Eggsy. He watched with apprehension, hoping this person would share the news of… whatever had happened.

The man glanced at Eggsy, did a double-take, then turned to Bors and said, “It’s serious, I need to take Merlin to him immediately. Can you take care of them?” He waved a hand vaguely at the candidates.

“Yes, of course,” Bors answered, surprised. “How bad is it?”

The man darted another look at the candidates before answering. “Coma. That’s all I can say. Ah, Merlin, you’re done,” as Merlin stepped out of the room in human form and with not a single thread out of place despite what must have been very hasty dressing. “Can we walk and talk?”

“Absolutely. Obey Bors and don’t be willful,” Merlin ordered the candidates, and set off down the hall, the messenger trotting at his side.

All the candidates looked to Bors. He sighed and jerked his head at the door to the dining room. “Well, get in there,” he commanded wearily. “Looks like it’ll be a while before we hear anything else.”

Eggsy wanted to growl his worry and frustration, but he didn’t dare, not in present company. JB picked up on his confused state, and leaned against him again.

The lesson on dog food was quick and painless, but the manners seemed to drag on and on, since Bors was distracted and sometimes trailed off in the middle of a sentence while gazing off into the distance. A hesitant cough always snapped him back into the moment, though. He was always adjusting his glasses too, discreetly.

Conversation turned into Bors handing out books of etiquette and telling them all to read silently while he communicated with Merlin. They took it in turns to all go in the closet, two at a time, and shift back to human form and dress. Roxy and Eggsy took their turn, and when they were both dressed, Roxy whispered, “You’re a corgi?”

Eggsy scowled at her. “It’s a family thing,” he grumbled softly. “Don’t make fun of me for it.”

“I won’t. It was just surprising.”

Before Eggsy could demand that she explain what _that_ meant, she’d opened the door, and they went quietly back to their seats and started reading.

Merlin returned in time to begin their next lesson. They were moving on from ABO to the societal structures of the ‘changer community as a whole, since there were more than just canines and lupines. This was totally new to all of them, so Merlin began from the ground up, so to speak. Eggsy kept up easily, remembering the contents of Harry’s notebooks.

He was worried, though. Extremely worried. A coma? Why? What had happened? He needed to see him. He didn’t care if his feelings were all dreams and futile hopes, Eggsy needed to go see Harry.

They were real feelings, though. He was sure of it. Maybe it wasn’t imprinting; maybe it was just a crush. But it was real.

So when the candidates were trooping to the dining room, Eggsy asked Roxy, “Does the bunker have a medical bay?”

“Ah, I believe so,” she answered, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Eggsy…”

“Do you know how to get there?”

“Eggsy, you’re not seriously considering—“ She cut herself off and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You like him.”

“Yes.”

“…I’ll get you a map.”

Eggsy wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a moment, the first sign of affection he’d shown to another human being since he left home. “Thanks, Rox.”

~\0/~

It was easy to get away before lights out. There was a football game on, and Merlin allowed them to finish dinner early so the boys could rush back to the barracks and cheer for England. Roxy and Eggsy, however, walked slowly; and when they came to a certain intersection of corridor, Roxy nodded towards the left and murmured, “Down that hall, second right, and past the fifth hall. I asked Merlin while you were in the bathroom. By the way, I think he knows.”

“He knows everything,” Eggsy sighed, annoyed. But he squeezed Roxy’s hand in thanks and trotted in the proper direction, his heart beating faster with every minute.

There was a double door separating the medical bay from the rest of the bunker. Eggsy slid through quietly, and made sure it was closed properly before sneaking down the hall, glancing at doors and through windows. This would be the place where doctors and nurses took care of minor issues. Further on should be intensive care and A&E. Right?

Yes, that was right. There was a door up ahead with light worming under it, and somehow Eggsy knew that was where Harry was. Maybe it was the faint scent on the air, the one that made him dizzy. He wasn’t dizzy now. The worry was squeezing his gut too tightly, and his head was full of hot fear.

He approached the door and opened it just a little.

There were three men in the room. Two were standing on either side of the hospital bed; he did not care who they were. They did not matter. It was the man in the bed that held Eggsy’s attention.

He looked so small, and like if you touched him he’d crack. If you ignored the drips and the mask and the unnatural stillness, it looked like he was sleeping; but dead people look like they’re sleeping, too.

“Is he gonna be alright?”

He couldn’t look away from Harry, though he could feel the gazes of both the other men boring into him. He didn’t care. Think what you want; he just wanted his Harry back.

“We must have hope, Eggsy,” one of them said, quietly, and almost gently. “If I were you I’d concentrate on making it through the tests, make him proud.”

Eggsy nodded, only half hearing him. Harry…

~~~\0/~~~

He did not sleep well that night. He lay for a few hours staring at the ceiling, trying to get a hold on his worrying, but that didn’t work. He ‘shifted and curled up with JB, who did his best to comfort his friend, but that didn’t help.

So he ‘shifted back, picked up JB, and crept silently out of the barracks.

He remembered the way to the medical bay well. He remembered how to avoid the patrols as well, and the sensors, and most of the cameras. JB was silent, though he quivered like he wanted to make protesting whimpers.

They reached the proper corridor. The door to Harry’s room was locked with a passcode, but Eggsy had a guess what it would be. In fact, he was almost disappointed, that the key was just Harry’s birthdate.

Although, they might have changed it to make it easier. Or, Merlin might’ve.

Eggsy thought a slightly disgruntled thank you towards his teacher and slid inside the room.

There was one light on, glowing softly, and the machines continued to beep and buzz. Eggsy walked over and sat on the chair beside the bed, cupping his arms around JB as he stared at Harry. There was a little bit of stubble on his face. It made him look… well, he couldn’t really tell, because there was a mask in the way and a few tubes. But he didn’t like it. He disapproved of Harry being less than impeccable. There was nothing he could do about it, though.

Exhaustion crept up on him while he stared. When he found himself struggling to keep his head up, he stood, set JB on the bed (the pug immediately began sniffing Harry’s hand, inspecting), undressed and folded his clothes neatly, ‘shifted, and then jumped up on to the hospital bed to curl up beside Harry’s hip and sleep.

“He’s sick,” JB squeaked.

“Yes,” Eggsy sighed.

“You can make him better, though, right?”

“I don’t know.” Eggsy stretched out his neck and buried his nose under Harry’s hand. It smelled and felt cold and heavy.

JB curled up against Eggsy, sighed, and fell asleep. The ‘shifter followed the puppy’s example, and dreamed many strange things.

~~~\0/~~~

“It _would_ be you,” said a resigned human voice, waking the two puppies from their slumber. Eggsy sat bolt upright, to see a woman in uniform with her hands on her hips standing in the doorway, gazing at him with an amused, longsuffering look. JB squeaked indignantly at being woken up. Eggsy could not ask what she meant, but he also did not want to change back just to ask.

“Mr. Wiz did warn us,” she told Eggsy, as if he were not a small dog with no ability to talk back. “It’s four in the morning. You’d best hurry back, or you’ll miss morning exercise.”

Eggsy laid down deliberately, putting his ears back just a tad.

“None of that, now,” the nurse retorted, with a bit of snap to her tone. “It doesn’t matter if you’re bound, we’ve all got work to do, and yours just so happens to be outside this room. You can come visit later. Out.”

So Eggsy hopped down from the bed, ‘shifted back to his human form (the nurse turned her back just long enough for him to dress), and picked up the sleepy JB. Then, even though the nurse was watching, he bent down and planted a quick, almost clumsy kiss on Harry’s forehead. Then he ran.

As it happened, he got back to the barracks just before Merlin came to wake them all. So while the others were still yawning, Eggsy was wide awake and silent, not meeting anyone’s eyes, answering Roxy’s groggy good morning with a mumbled, “Yeah.”

He went through the motions, but he couldn’t quite focus on them. He kept wanting to run back and curl up with Harry, keep him company, protect him, stay until he woke up, and after—but they were silly, selfish wants, and eventually he managed to shove them aside.

The day went by the same as the last few, which is to say, he learned many interesting things, and proved himself yet again against the snobs; but he wasn’t thinking, which was probably what made Charlie and his pack glare so abominably. Even on the obstacle course, he and Roxy were far ahead of the boys, and only after they reached the end did Eggsy realize he’d twisted his ankle. This was irritating, especially because walking normally made a sharp, searing pain arch all the way up his leg into his knee, and limping made the boys smirk and sneer. He chose pain over sneers.

By the time they mustered out, his leg was hurting no matter what he did, and his ankle was in agony. Maybe it wasn’t ‘just’ twisted.

In the mess, Eggsy yanked off his boot and sock and accidentally let out a whistle.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

“What’d you do?” Roxy leaned down, one cheek full of sandwich, and also whistled. “Oh, that is so broken.”

“Broken?” Charlie drawled, swaggering up behind them. “What’s bro—oh.”

Eggsy looked up sharply, but Charlie’s expression was blank as he contemplated Eggsy’s purple-and-yellow striped foot. Then he looked at Eggsy and said calmly, “Looks like you’re out of the game for a while.”

“Like fuck!” Eggsy snarled, yanking on his sock again, even though it made his leg from toes to knee scream indignantly. “It’ll be fine. I’ll—“

“Eggsy,” Merlin called from the doorway. Everyone snapped to attention. “May I have a word with you.”

Eggsy stood, swayed, caught himself almost immediately, and marched straight up to Merlin; or, rather, walked slightly slower than usual and more deliberately. He was sweating when he finally stood in front of his instructor, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that he was showing no sign of weakness that Charlie could see.

Merlin’s eyebrow twitched, but all he did was murmur, “I have it on excellent authority that you were out of the barracks last night.”

“Yessir,” Eggsy muttered, hoping he’d get this over with quickly.

“Why?”

“Just ‘cos.” His whole foot was throbbing now.

“Mm-hm. Tell me, does Harry know?”

It took Eggsy a minute to figure out what Merlin meant. Then he forgot pain and gaped at Merlin, suddenly very afraid. “Is it that obvious?” he asked nervously—but quietly, very quietly. He didn’t want anybody to hear.

“To us? Yes. To them? Probably not. But did you tell him?” Merlin pressed, his voice just as soft.

“In a roundabout way,” Eggsy mumbled. Remembering that moment hurt very much. It couldn’t be wrong… if other people saw it, not just Eggsy, then it couldn’t be wrong. Could it?

Merlin was silent for a moment, tapping his pen against his clipboard. Then he began to swear loudly, so vividly that Eggsy jumped, and he could hear one of the boys behind him gasp. Then Merlin turned sharply and left, calling over his shoulder, “Evening is canceled, go back to your barracks. Get that foot wrapped.”

And then he was gone.

“What did you _say_?” Digby hissed urgently.

Eggsy turned, slowly for his foot, and stared at his fellow candidates, who stared back with awe. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “We was just… Oh shit. Oh, _shit_!” He whipped around, tried to run, and half-fell with a yelp, slamming against the doorway and sliding down it a good six inches before his grip was tight enough to stop him; there was the sound of chairs scraping, hurried steps, and then Roxy was supporting him on one side and Charlie on the other. He didn’t much care. He was full of sudden urgency, an image forming of Merlin stomping into Harry’s room, or worse, going to Arthur, and telling him—

“You’re not going anywhere except to the surgery,” Roxy announced firmly. “You’ll ruin yourself further.”

“But—“

“No.”

Though Eggsy protested furiously, Roxy and Charlie escorted him to the medical bay, with the other candidates following at a safe distance. Eggsy didn’t really know why they would, except that they’d follow Charlie anywhere—wait, why was Charlie looking worried? Didn’t he hate Eggsy? Of course he did. Maybe he was worried to lose any competition. They’d all accepted that Roxy was their queen bitch in this kennel, but there was still fighting over the position of her second. Surely that was all.

The nurse who received them was also the one who’d found Eggsy and JB that morning. With JB lying in Eggsy’s lap, Roxy standing by him with her arms crossed, and Charlie lurking by the door, the nurse, whose nametag read Elizabeth, pulled off his sock, rolled up his trouser leg, and gave a noise of sympathy.

“That’ll need more than a wrap,” she announced. “Typical Merlin. Will your pride allow a brace? Or are you going to be an idiot and try to walk on it?”

“I gotta walk with it,” Eggsy protested. “I can’t just let them get ahead of me.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she retorted calmly. “You can still do lessons, just not physical training. There’s a rehab room, you can work there. Don’t let Merlin pressure you. He always overestimates young bones.” Elizabeth looked at Roxy and Charlie, and said dryly, “I am assuming you and the others outside were not all sent by Merlin.”

“He said evening is cancelled,” Roxy answered her, uncrossing her arms and locking her hands behind her back. “Charlie and I escorted Eggsy so he wouldn’t sneak away.”

“Well, he’ll need to stay overnight,” Elizabeth told Roxy, ignoring Charlie, who, judging by the way he stayed shrunk in the shadows, did not mind at all. Eggsy scowled at him. Charlie glared right back. JB sighed heavily.

Eggsy was settled in the room right next to Harry’s. He and Elizabeth were the only ones who knew, of course; Roxy just raised an eyebrow when Eggsy stiffened, and Charlie frowned. But Elizabeth smiled, helped get Eggsy settled, said, “I’ll go fetch whoever’s on duty, and it better not be Milton,” and vanished.

Roxy folded herself neatly on to the chair. JB inspected the temporary brace on Eggsy’s ankle. Charlie slouched in the corner. Eggsy scowled at the concrete wall between him and Harry.

“Why _are_ you still here?” Roxy asked Charlie curiously.

“Because _some_ one’s got to remember all the sordid details,” Charlie answered archly, but there was none of his usual vicious glee in his tone or expression. Roxy raised her eyebrow, and Charlie flushed.

Eggsy didn’t notice. He was too worried about whether he’d be allowed to visit Harry while he was here.

~~~\0/~~~

Arthur looked concerned when Merlin finished reporting, but not, Merlin was sad to see, for the proper reasons.

“We shall have to keep them apart, somehow,” Arthur said finally. “Hopefully when the boy fails the bond will break.”

“When has a bond ever just broken?” Merlin demanded angrily, “And he won’t fail, he’s second only to Roxanne. They’re annihilating their competition, which you’d remember if you actually read the reports you keep asking for. And there’s no point trying to separate them. They’ll find a way. You don’t know Eggsy, Arthur; and you don’t know Harry, if you think he’ll roll over and do as you say.”

“He will,” Arthur insisted, with his best mulish expression. “He’s just an—“

“If you try to say because he’s an omega I _will_ put you in hospital.”

Arthur shut his mouth.

Merlin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and was calmer. “I request that Eggsy be allowed to spend nights with Harry unless one or the other says they’d like to be apart.”

“No.”

“Mm.” Merlin wrote an email on his clipboard and sent it to Elizabeth, allowing her to give Eggsy the code to Harry’s room. He signed it with a perfect forgery of Arthur’s signature. “Fine. Don’t blame me when they run away to Paris.”

“Is Harry awake?”

“No, but until we figure out what happened, it is entirely possible that being deprived of his bond-mate will simply worsen or prolong his condition.”

Arthur frowned because he was too well-trained to scowl. Merlin gazed back calmly and waited.

“…Alright, the boy may visit him on occasion,” Arthur allowed stiffly. “But when he comes ‘round they are to be separated. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” Merlin answered.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy almost hugged Elizabeth when she came in, shooed Roxy and Charlie out, and told him, “I just received orders to let you in to see Galahad. Come on. You can spend the night in his room, too.”

He tried to leap out of bed and only managed a fast stumble. Elizabeth steadied him, obviously suppressing a grin, and helped him hop from his room to Harry’s.

There was no change, except that the stubble was becoming a beard. Eggsy hobbled straight to the chair and pulled it right up against Harry’s bed, glaring as Elizabeth snorted. Hey, it wasn’t _his_ fault. Well… maybe it was. He didn’t have to give into these silly urges, after all. But it was much easier to. Besides, somebody had to be worried about this idiot.

After some short instructions, most of which Eggsy knew from visiting his gran in hospital, Elizabeth left. Eggsy immediately stood and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up Harry’s hand and holding it in his lap. It was cold again. Did no one understand the importance of keeping someone warm, so as to keep their circulation up? Or did they have other ways to combat cold fingers and toes? Was anything else cold?

He decided against checking. He might get carried away. But he was with his Harry, and that was what counted.

God, he could just stare at him all night and be perfectly content.

But he had to sleep at some point. So he ‘shifted, and curled up with his leg sticking out as straight as possible, and when JB had settled down with him, they slept.

~~~\0/~~~

At the end of two weeks, two of the candidates were sent home. Eggsy’s ankle was healing well. Merlin wouldn’t let him train with the others, and that put him out of temper. He did the exercises Dr. Milton prescribed, and some that he remembered from gymnastics (with strength came flexibility came physical and mental restlessness), but he couldn’t do very much of anything. So he applied himself to his studies, sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed with his leg propped on the chair, reading. Sometimes he disconnected the cameras and mics and read books aloud to Harry and JB. Nobody told him not to. Maybe it was because he always fixed them again when he was done.

One day, while the others were outside and Eggsy was studying the book on etiquette Bors had lent him (with the understanding that he would have it memorized by the next day), an old man stepped through the door.

Eggsy’s head snapped up, and his nose twitched. He was so used to the cleanliness and sterility of the medical ward, the unexpected smell of expensive liquor and cigars make him queasy, as did the unmistakable scent of aggression.

“You would be Unwin, then,” the old man said, the corners of his mouth turned down disapprovingly.

“Yeah,” Eggsy answered warily. JB shrank against his side, shivering. “Who’re you?”

“Arthur.”

The fuckface who sent Harry into the situation that sent him into a coma? The snobbish bastard that told Merlin to keep Eggsy away from Harry? (Merlin hadn’t told Eggsy that, Elizabeth had.) But he couldn’t say that, because Arthur was the head of Kingsman. So instead, Eggsy stood and gave a little bow.

“Sit, please. I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” Arthur ordered.

There was only one chair, so Eggsy sat on the edge of Harry’s bed again. Arthur took the chair, eyeing Eggsy critically. Eggsy returned the favor.

An old man, gone flabby and floppy. His shifted shape must be something like a bulldog, or one of those mastiffs with lots and lots of wrinkles and slobber. He did not look very commanding or alpha-like; but he held himself as if he expected respect and obedience, and he expected them immediately. He reminded Eggsy of Charlie, actually. It was very strange.

“Why, exactly, do you feel this need to be by his side?” Arthur asked, carefully neutral.

Eggsy shrugged. He couldn’t tell this old bastard that he’d imprinted on Harry; for some reason, the part of himself that he associated solely with his dog-self was urging him not to trust this man. He’d learned to listen to that voice. “He recruited me,” Eggsy pointed out instead, just as neutral. “I owe him.”

Arthur raised one white eyebrow. “Perhaps your debt would be better paid by working with your fellows,” he suggested.

“Can’t until my foot heals,” Eggsy replied, pointing down at the cast. He was sure Arthur had noticed, but he had to say it. “Until then I’m stuck here.”

“Not necessarily here, in this room.”

“No, not necessarily,” Eggsy agreed, and said no more. He’d have to leave if Arthur ordered him to, but he wouldn’t until then.

Arthur sighed heavily. “Eggsy, you are young,” he began, in a dramatically world-weary way, “And not very experienced, no matter what you might tell yourself. Whatever your feelings towards Galahad, surely you must be aware that they may be fleeting.”

Eggsy gave him a Look that he hoped conveyed the proper amount of respectful “what the fuck are you talking about”. “I dunno what you mean, sir,” he said cautiously.

Arthur frowned sternly. “Do not attempt to play games,” he scolded, leaning forward slightly with his hands on his knees. “It is obvious even to the other candidates that you are, shall we say, enamored of him. Perhaps it is simply admiration?”

“You’re right, sir,” Eggsy replied firmly, meeting his eyes squarely. “I do admire him. And that’s all.”

After a moment of silence, Arthur sighed and stood. Not retreating; simply pulling back to rearrange his troops. “I shall be back to check on Galahad tomorrow,” he announced.

Eggsy stood too, because that was the polite thing to do. No point making him more of an enemy.  “Yessir. Goodbye.”

Arthur gave him a disgruntled, plainly vexed look, and took his leave.

Eggsy collapsed back down on the bed and let out his breath, low and shaky. His ankle was hurting again. Automatically, one hand sought out JB, and the other fell on Harry’s, which was cold and still as always. If Eggsy pressed two fingers gently against the veins of the inside of Harry’s wrist, he could feel Harry’s pulse faintly.

“What do I do, Harry?” Eggsy whispered, wrapping his fingers around the comatose man’s. “He knows. How do I convince him he’s got it wrong? What do I do?”

He received no answer. He never did.

~~~\0/~~~

_Harry is wandering._

_Everything is dark and cold, and he can’t find his way. He thinks he’s in a cave system, but it’s hard to tell. There is an oppressive, damp feeling to the air, and his claws scrape on a hard surface._

_He is naked except for his fur, and though he walks on two legs, his feet are paws, and his fingers have claws instead of nails. He recognizes this shape on himself. This is a familiar element to the nightmare; caught between the worlds, in limbo between human and animal. If there were any reflective surfaces visible, he would turn away from them, because he cannot stand his face in this form._

_The silence is more oppressive than the darkness._

_He walks, and walks, and walks. He never turns from his path. There is something waiting for him at the end; some_ one _waiting. Someone important. But this, too, is familiar. He never reaches the end. He never finds the important someone. So he walks, forever and ever, in the bitter blind silence._

_The faintest waft of a new scent._

_A whisper of sound, a sliver of a voice._

_He halts, ears pricked, hardly daring to breathe._

_There! There it is again! A noise that he can almost recognize—coming from behind? He whips around, and begins walking the way he came. The scent thickens, rich and sweet and alluring, and he finds himself taking deep, deep breaths of it, his tail whipping back and forth. Whose scent is it? Whose smell draws him on like this? He opens his mouth to speak, to say a simple who goes there—_

_The murmuring voice cuts off sharply. The scent fades, as if whatever breeze had brought it is now blocked up by the cold dark. Now there is only a flat, metallic bitterness at the back of his throat, like blood, or regret._

_He stops walking, and stands still, miserable and mixed and utterly alone._


	4. Emotions run rampant

Eggsy’s ankle healed, but Harry did not wake.

His first day back on the course, Eggsy threw caution to the wind and ran it like his life depended on it. Merlin frowned; Roxy and Charlie cast anxious looks Eggsy’s way; and Hugo, Digby, and Rufus simply looked annoyed and surprised. Eggsy didn’t care. He knew he was doing better than anyone expected, and that was because he’d been spending the last week neglecting his extra studies. He was caught up, thanks to Harry’s notebooks, and shifting regularly plus experimental drugs had shortened healing time to four weeks. He was fine now. Even his tumbling and fighting skills were still honed.

Traditional classwork was reduced, and Conversation had evolved into Communication, which included codes, reading and influencing, and various schools of psychology. Also, when they finished morning exercise, they did things like take apart the newest state-of-the-art technology to study their inner workings, or practiced avoiding lasers, or learned to dance. That one was interesting, because while Eggsy knew nothing of the ballroom, he knew plenty about street and contemporary dancing, and enjoyed showing off, even when his foot hurt.

He started out with excuses for skipping dinner, but soon he just stopped trying. Everyone knew what he was doing anyway; going to check on Harry. It was just accepted now. Even Merlin didn’t so much as twitch when Eggsy stood up, mumbled a quick pardon, and left.

Elizabeth had accepted his pathetic plea for any excuse to stay, and given him chores to do; cleaning Harry’s room, mending medical equipment, putting together field-kits, all at Harry’s bedside.

“You know,” Elizabeth remarked thoughtfully to Merlin one day as they watched the video of Eggsy rolling bandages, “I do think it’s helping. Usually coma patients start to show some sign of lack of nutrition, but Galahad is practically thriving as compared to the same issue ten years ago. Milton thinks he’s bound to wake up any day now.”

Merlin just gave the tiniest of smiles. “I thought that might be it,” he murmured.

Eggsy was utterly oblivious to all this, of course. All he knew was that it made him feel better to take care of his Harry, even if he was too shy to do any personal care beyond clip the beard so it stayed a reasonable length. He took turns sleeping in the barracks and with Harry, and it always seemed to him that Harry looked better when Eggsy stayed over.

He never actually forgot practice and studying. He refused to fall behind again.

And somehow, he became very possessive. Sometimes other agents would come to see Harry, or other Kingsman employees, and Eggsy would have to force himself to stand as far away as possible so he didn’t shove them out the door immediately. Harry was popular, and while Eggsy completely understood why, it still made him unhappy. Couldn’t they all make do with video and written reports? Why did they have to keep touching Harry’s arm or hand?

The visitors always left quickly, often with sidelong glances at Eggsy, standing in the corner bristling with confused rage. Every time they did, he would rush back and sit on the edge of the bed, holding Harry’s hand firmly in his lap. It made him feel guilty—why was he so protective of a man who was unable to tell him not to be?—but it was hard to control.

One day, not long after Eggsy had reentered the fray, he was holding Harry’s hand and reading aloud from an Australian book, puzzling his way through the unfamiliar slang that was nonetheless extremely delightful, when he felt the tiniest twitch.

He stopped dead and stared at the hand in his. It lay quiescent. So he started reading again, slowly… and Harry’s fingers definitely put pressure on his for half a second.

Eggsy dropped the book, kissed Harry’s cheek, and ran from the room, shouting for Elizabeth.

“Liza! Liza! He moved! He’s wakin’ up! LIZA!”

~\0/~

_He is hideously tired, but he is sustained by occasional whispers of sound and wafts of scent. He has turned around and is walking away from the futile hope, towards the surety of what he’s left behind. It is hard going; the darkness has a mass, the silence slithers through the air like immense pythons, but every time the voice comes to him to break the pythons apart, the silence is weaker._

_Suddenly, he realizes that the air is getting light, both physically and visually. He finds new strength, as the voice grows stronger, speaking recognizable words, and the dark rolls away as he reaches the mouth of the cave, which is flooded with harsh white artificial light._

_There is a feeling of warmth and pressure in his paw-hand. He squeezes his fingers tightly around it, suddenly sure of whose hand he holds. He can’t stop smiling._

_He runs the last few yards, and crosses the threshold at a sprint._

~~~\0/~~~

“I want to see him!”

Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Eggsy, I’m _sorry_ , but I can’t let you in when Arthur’s questioning him,” she repeated for the third time. “I know you’re upset, but you have to understand, Arthur doesn’t like you or want you around. He’s looking for any excuse to expel you. So you have to be polite for a while longer.”

Eggsy did not like that “being polite” included being prevented from being the first thing Harry saw when he woke. He shouldn’t have told Elizabeth. He should have stayed. Now he was stuck pacing the hall, glaring at the door, wondering with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach what Arthur was telling Harry. It couldn’t be anything good.

~\0/~

Harry had been slightly disappointed to wake up alone, with only the faintest memory of warmth on his hand and the side of the bed, but at least JB, no longer a tiny baby, was there to tell him that, yes, Eggsy had been here.

Eggsy. Just thinking his name made a bit more strength and awareness come back to Harry. So he repeated it in his head, and tried muzzily to picture his face. Eggsy. Eggsy. Such nicely arched eyebrows. Eggsy. A nice nose, too, and a good wide jaw. Eggsy—with his grey-hazel eyes shining—shining—with—

Shining with tears.

Harry realized dimly that JB was washing his face, in a brisk, business-like manner. For a moment he was alarmed, wondering if he was crying; but no, thank the lord, he was not. Somehow he managed to raise his hand and push at JB clumsily.

“Stop that,” he croaked. “You’re no healer with a magic kiss.”

JB ducked his hand and continued to wash him. His breath was alright for a pug, but still distressing. Harry tried to sit up, and found he could not, not all the way.

“How long was I out?” he asked JB, his voice rasping.

“A little over a month,” a human voice answered; he looked up, and Elizabeth stood in the doorway, grinning. “Guess who wants to see you,” she teased slyly.

Harry knew exactly who, because he could smell the same sweet scent as he’d smelt in his dream, just behind her in the corridor. But before he could ask her to let him in immediately, Elizabeth’s pager squawked, and when she checked it, her face soured.

“Arthur,” Harry guessed heavily.

“No. Merlin.” Elizabeth turned, and spoke to Eggsy, still hidden by the wall. “Better be quick about—“

“So he’s awake, then?”

Elizabeth’s face went blank, the closest she ever got to the respectful fear that was expected from “lesser” employees. “Yes, sir,” she answered calmly, and stepped aside. Arthur swept in, sucking all warmth and happy anticipation from the room. No, that was too dramatic; better to say, it was very disappointing to Harry that he wouldn’t get to see his bondmate sooner.

Bondmate. The term made his internal organs feel warm and shivery—in both happiness and annoyance. But he had no time to study these feelings, because Arthur took the chair beside Harry’s bed and said briskly, “Since you could not give us an account earlier, perhaps you can explain yourself now.”

“Sir, he shouldn’t be—“ Elizabeth began, but Arthur cut her off without even turning around.

“Nonsense. We need that information as soon as possible. Leave.”

Harry glanced over Arthur’s shoulder, and caught the glare full of loathing that Elizabeth leveled at the back of Arthur’s head before she shut the door quietly. Harry always wondered at that. Why didn’t any of the other Kingsman agents and staff defy Arthur, even a little? Surely it couldn’t just be because he was Alpha. Or maybe their defiances were smaller than Harry’s, and he was just never around to see them. That was probably it.

“Explain yourself,” Arthur demanded.

Harry sighed, and scratched JB’s ears. The pug had stuck by Harry’s side, as some kind of support, and he was very grateful. “I can’t explain myself. I can explain what happened when I tracked down our wayward professor, though.”

Arthur nodded. “That will do,” he allowed.

Harry did not bother getting angry. Instead, he began the process of answering Arthur’s many questions.

~~~\0/~~~

It was well past midnight when Arthur and Merlin, who had arrived soon after his boss, exited Harry’s room to find Eggsy standing in the hall with his arms crossed over his chest. He did not glare at them. He’d gotten over most of his anger, and was now simply tired.

“He’s asleep,” Merlin told the youngster, almost apologetically.

Eggsy swallowed disappointment and nodded with a carefully closed expression.

“You should go back to the barracks,” Arthur added, with a hint of smugness.

Eggsy did not know how to react to this suggestion, so he just nodded again, but didn’t move. Arthur began to frown, but Merlin turned and whispered in his ear, and after a moment of calculating staring, Arthur moved on down the hall briskly. Merlin sighed.

“That’s got rid of him,” Merlin muttered. He turned back to Eggsy. “Make it count,” he said simply, and walked away.

Eggsy did not need to wonder what he meant. He darted across the hall and into the room, shutting the door firmly behind him, and leaning on it because his knees felt suddenly rather shaky.

Harry was not asleep. Harry was sitting up, scratching JB’s chin and murmuring to him. He looked so strange, with a beard and his hair uncombed and dark circles under his eyes, and the tiniest quirk of a smile at the end of his mouth.

He looked up at Eggsy, and their eyes met in perfect understanding.

Eggsy began to grin.

~~~\0/~~~

Charlie squirmed in his seat a little, trying not to pout. Was it _his_ fault that he couldn’t decide? He didn’t really want to court Roxy; she was too… too awake. She saw things, and she understood them, and she _did_ something about them; and it was unnerving, almost frightening. But Eggsy was—was—

“One or the other, Charlie,” Chester reminded him sternly. “Take them out of the game. I’ll deal with whatever you leave behind.”

“It’s _hard_ ,” Charlie protested whiningly. “And Eggsy’s all tied up with that Galahad. Everyone sees it, everyone knows they’re bound—“

“They are _not_ bound,” Chester interrupted icily. “It is a mutual affection, and affection can be killed. When I have them severed, you can take Eggsy for yourself. He’s just a chav, Charlie, and an idiot.”

“He’s not a chav,” the younger man retorted fiercely, “He’s a—a—“ Then he realized what he’d said, and flushed painfully, dropping his eyes to the desk.

“He’s a what?” Charlie’s sponsor asked neutrally.

“He’s—just—not one of us, that’s all,” he mumbled. “Not a chav.”

An uneasy silence hung over them both like a guillotine’s blade. Charlie fought the urge to cringe back in his seat.

“So you choose him,” Chester said finally, smugly.

Charlie nodded stiffly.

“Good. Maybe you can knock Galahad down a peg or two as well. He’s getting cocky again. Remember, I’m counting on you, Charlie.”

~\0/~

Roxy was having a cuppa with Elizabeth in the nurses’ breakroom.

“Usually there’s about three of us on duty,” Elizabeth was explaining as she put her feet up on the arm of the chair next to hers, “But things are slow here, thank the lord. Seventeen years since the last fatality and Galahad’s the only casualty in months. These old cats are way better than their predecessors. So it’s just me and Dr. Milton for now, and in a week or so I’ll be “volunteering” at the hospital Bors’ family sponsors.”

Roxy sipped her tea thoughtfully. “You said they’re better than the ones before them,” she repeated, “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, about twenty years.” Elizabeth grinned as Roxy blinked. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s part of my heritage, looking young an’ lovely. I was here when the last batch of Lancelot hopefuls came through; Eggsy’s more like his father than he knows. He’s just more bitter. Although, he isn’t very bitter around Galahad…”

Roxy rolled her eyes. “You’re teasing,” she said frankly.

“Yes I am. Sorry,” Elizabeth replied cheerfully, not sorry in the least. “Galahad is already up and about, and restless. I think he’s still figuring himself out. Eggsy, though, he’s mooning like a lovesick puppy. Is it showing in his training?”

“Oh yes.” Roxy sighed heavily, and Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t laugh, it’s serious. Just last night he asked me if Unwin-Hart sounded better than Hart-Unwin—not where Charlie could hear, obviously.”

Elizabeth’s smile faded. “Oh dear,” she murmured. “That’s a bit fast.”

“Exactly. And I’m suspicious of Charlie’s behavior. One minute he’s being an utter dick, the next it’s like he’s trying to make amends with both of us. Eggsy’s not so oblivious that he hasn’t noticed too; he just doesn’t care.”

Elizabeth looked thoughtful, cradling her mug in both hands. “I suggest you ignore it,” she said finally, slowly. “Unless it interferes with your training in any way other than being distracting and off-putting. Charlie seems scared, to me. I’ve caught him hovering around corners when Eggsy and Harry are together, and he always looks like someone who’s just realized they’ve been poisoned by a good friend.”

Roxy frowned. Then her eyes widened and she took a swift breath. “Could he have imprinted on Eggsy?” she asked Elizabeth urgently, “Because if he has—“

But Elizabeth was already shaking her head. “Impossible,” she announced. “I’d smell it. That’s something that’ll come to you all with time. Charlie might fancy Eggsy, but they’re not bound or imprinted or even mutually affectionate. Poly-binding isn’t unusual; that’s how some packs are created. But with the binding between Eggsy and Galahad? Not a chance.”

Roxy nodded, only partially reassured. “What is he _doing_ , then?” she muttered.

“Who knows,” Elizabeth sighed. “Men are a mystery.”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy didn’t believe in Heaven, but he believed in being so happy it felt like Heaven. He was almost to that level of happiness.

Harry was still a little distant, a little cold, which was his way of saying he wasn’t ready to admit or commit; but Eggsy didn’t mind. At least Harry let him visit every evening, and occasionally would agree to Eggsy’s shifting into dog form and sharing the bed with him for the night.

They talked sometimes. About Eggsy’s training, and how it compared to Harry’s; what had happened to put Harry in a coma; why Eggsy hadn’t left his side. That was actually uncomfortable, because Eggsy didn’t know how to explain properly. He kept backtracking and sidestepping until Harry would tell him that it didn’t matter, how were his lessons going? He felt bad about it, but he honestly could not explain his feelings.

Harry never spoke about his own emotions. Vaguely Eggsy knew this was bad, but he didn’t remember why and in what way.

They did not talk often, though. Eggsy still had training, and Harry was very quiet and preoccupied. They watched My Fair Lady together one night, Eggsy in corgi-form, curled up in Harry’s lap and feeling so absolutely contented he almost forgot the ache of missing his mum. Almost.

One evening, Eggsy finished his dinner and stood, and Merlin informed him, “He was released this morning and is not expected to return. Sit.”

Eggsy stared at him for a moment, then obeyed, just slowly enough to convey the fact that he was not happy with this information. He knew it showed on his face as well, but he was learning about body language and took the opportunity to practice with every strong emotion. Roxy nudged his foot with hers, the only expression of comfort they were allowed to show in public.

That night was strange. His bed in the barracks was more comfortable than the hospital chairs, but it felt cold and musty and lonely, even with JB warming his feet. He hadn’t realized how much time he’d spent in the medical bay until that night when he wasn’t allowed to run over in the middle of the night and spend the early morning hours in the chair or by Harry’s side.

Where’d Harry go? Well, it stood to reason that he had a house, a place where he wasn’t watched constantly and could have some privacy from people who wanted to yap at him for the sake of yapping. Where was it? Could Eggsy come visit? He wanted to visit.

His stomach felt cramped and tightly compressed. What if Harry didn’t want Eggsy to visit? What if he didn’t want Eggsy to know where he lived? Why would he not want that? Weren’t they…?

Stop thinking like that, Eggsy, he told himself firmly. Ain’t no point worrying about that.

But he worried anyway.

~~~\0/~~~

“You will take a training mission with your sponsors. Come in one at a time and you’ll get your assignments and a briefing.”

The three remaining candidates all nodded, and took their seats in the row of chairs in the hall. Eggsy scratched JB’s ears absently as he stared at the vase across the hall from him and did his best to keep calm.

A mission with Harry! What would it be? An assassination? Bodyguard work? Spying on some foreign country’s leader? No, probably something in Britain, something small. That didn’t mean he shouldn’t take it seriously. But he shouldn’t take it _too_ seriously, either. It wouldn’t be something with global consequences, just something to test their limits. He hadn’t been this eager since he’d joined the Marines.

And he’d be with his Harry. Just the thought made him want to grin like an idiot. He reined in the urge and looked down at JB, flopped in his lap. No showing how excited he was. No being obvious with his affection.

Merlin leaned out of the half-open door and said calmly, “Roxy, you first.”

Roxy stood, tugged her cuffs straight, and strode to the briefing room. Merlin withdrew; Roxy and her poodle disappeared within, and the door closed with a soft click.

Eggsy immediately put JB down on Roxy’s seat and stood up to pace the hall. Charlie lounged in his chair, pretending boredom as he watched Eggsy sharply through hooded eyes.

It seemed like forever before Roxy exited the room with a brown paper folder in her hands and a thoughtful frown on her face. She saw Eggsy pacing, and the frown became a smirk.

“Charlie next,” she informed her boys sweetly when they both looked at her. Eggsy scowled fiercely, but stood stock-still as Charlie got to his feet and went inside, his shepherd trailing at his heels.

When it was only Roxy, Eggsy, and their puppies, Eggsy opened his mouth to speak—Roxy put her finger to her lips, and he closed his mouth again. She gestured for him to follow, and moved to a spot down the hall away from the briefing room. Eggsy went with her, though it hurt to walk _away_ from what he most wanted.

“He’s not there yet,” Roxy murmured. “So you don’t have to be so jumpy.”

The tiniest whine escaped him instead of a snappy retort. His friend looked torn between exasperation and amusement, as she tapped her folder against her palm.

“You’re pathetic,” she said frankly.

“I know,” Eggsy muttered. “I’ll—be better when I see him.”

“You’d better.” She punched his shoulder lightly, smiling crookedly. “Cheer up. I bet he’s as impatient to see you as you are to see him.”

“I hope so.”

~\0/~

Harry glanced at his watch as he strode down the corridor. Late again. Damn.

He hadn’t wanted to come. He’d wanted to find some other mission, some excuse to get out of this; but the thought of being with Eggsy was too much of a temptation. He was still wary of these emotions, because they were far too sudden and reminded him uneasily of being in heat; but they were devoid of sexuality and sensuality. He just… wanted to be with Eggsy.

And so, the walking briskly through the halls trying to get there before he was _too_ late.

Eggsy was pacing in the hall, but the moment he saw Harry his entire face lit up, and if not for their surroundings, Harry knew Eggsy would run to him and—what? It didn’t matter. Harry felt himself straighten just a little more, tip his chin up, wish he could duck into an empty room and make sure his collar and cuffs and tie were straight and his hair was in place. It made him feel… yes, alright, he felt a little smug, that Eggsy would turn such a grin on him. Could anyone blame him? Eggsy was, after all, the most wonderful person in the world—

Before he could do more than feel uneasy at that thought, he reached Eggsy, and barely managed to say, “Shall we?” before his nearness made Harry’s head feel light and slightly fuzzy. He was getting very tired of all these feelings. They were fouling his game.

“Yes,” Eggsy said, put his arm through Harry’s, and led the way to the door to the briefing room.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy reread the papers given to him as he and Harry rode the shuttle back to London. He felt the tiniest bit of dread. From the information on the pages and given by Merlin, he wasn’t sure if he could handle this; he’d never stayed shifted longer than a few hours, after all. To be in dog form for days on end… yes, it was only a week, but it was going to be a long one.

“I have guarded this family before, if that makes you feel any better. They are good people.”

Eggsy looked up and felt yet another grin stretch across his face. How could he have forgotten? The week wouldn’t be so long with Harry there. “It does,” he replied simply.

Harry nodded sedately and returned to his own papers. Now that Eggsy was looking at him, he couldn’t look away. The way the light shone in his hair; the shadows pooling in his eyes and on his throat; his hands, so wiry and strong; the way his shoulders filled out his jacket; that thing where he crossed his legs as properly as any lady. He could stare happily all day. It was all _his_. This entire beautiful human being, so perfect in his wholeness, was Eggsy’s. Just as Eggsy’s whole was completely Harry’s.

What did Harry see when he looked at Eggsy? Did he see a rumpled little boy who couldn’t stop smiling? Or did he see something as beautiful as himself?

Harry’s gaze flicked up without raising his head, and his eyebrow quirked upwards. “What are you staring at?” he asked dryly.

Eggsy’s smile stretched into another grin. “Nothing,” he answered. Even Harry’s voice was perfect.

“Is ‘nothing’ that entertaining?”

“Yes. He is.”

Harry blinked, and his head jerked up just a little; but then he lowered his attention hastily, and muttered, “’Nothing’ does not feel like being entertaining at the moment.”

“He doesn’t have to.” Eggsy braced his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, and put his chin in his hand, just looking at Harry. He knew this was ridiculous, and that he had no right to stare, and that if he were a good enough person he should look away and stop making Harry uncomfortable, but for now…

“Please stop,” Harry said finally.

Eggsy sighed dramatically, but looked down at his papers again, and did not look up until the shuttle-ride ended. He was going to be a good bondmate, damn it, and respect barriers and wishes.

The shop was empty except for the tailor, who nodded to them both and kept right on with his work. A taxi waited outside, which made Eggsy slightly nonplussed, but when they climbed in, he felt safe enough behind the blackout windows. And they went straight through to a rather nice neighborhood where no one paid attention to the gentleman in a suit and the young man in a plaid onesie.

Harry’s house was… nice. Eggsy didn’t know how to describe it. It was old-fashioned, but in a timeless way, not embarrassing. And everything was clean, and it smelled faintly of wood smoke and Harry’s personal scent, and it was cozy instead of cramped.

But it echoed, and felt unused. Harry obviously didn’t spend much time here.

Harry cleared his throat, and Eggsy started a little, before stepping forward and putting one hand gingerly on the bannister of the stairs. “This place is nice,” he said, half mumbling.

“Thank you,” Harry replied, tone colorless. “I… inherited it from the previous Galahad.”

“Is that why everything’s old?”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “No. I spent a week redecorating when I first moved in, and never bothered to do it all again. It’s too much trouble.”

Eggsy agreed most fervently. But mum tended to change out knickknacks and small things according to her favorite home fashion magazines, and after the overbearing old elegance of the manor and the cold utility of the bunker, Eggsy would’ve liked to see some kind of modernism. Just to switch things up. Some kind of bright color; a bright yellow against the rich brown, a pop of lime or sky blue on the cream walls. When Eggsy became Lancelot, he was going to have to do some redecorating on his own.

But how could he be sure he would be Lancelot? Roxy was _miles_ ahead of him, and Charlie was nipping at his heels. And what would happen to their bond if he didn’t make it?

He turned resolutely towards Harry and away from such thoughts. “Tell me about the family,” he demanded.

Harry nodded and gestured for Eggsy to follow him, then led the way down the hall to a study-like room. Eggsy stopped in the doorway, staring around in bafflement at the pages pinned neatly to the walls.

“Perhaps that will be another time,” Harry murmured in Eggsy’s ear behind him. Eggsy felt the tiniest happy shiver up his spine. “For now, let us discuss our mission.”

Eggsy nodded and moved into the room, still gazing at the oddity of it. Harry followed, smiling slightly, and sat in the chair behind the desk, nodding for Eggsy to take the wingback in the corner. When they were both seated, Eggsy sinking down in the chair and Harry sprawling quite elegantly in his languidness (in Eggsy’s opinion), Harry set his papers on the desk and began, “I first was assigned this family ten years ago, when there were only two children. They have… very interesting anecdotes. Their ancestors happen to be, as it were, royalty among shapechangers. As such, the British ‘changers have banded together to choose protectors for them. I am the only one in the British Isles to put up with them for longer than a week, and more often than twice. And now you will meet them.”

Merlin had given an overview of the mission at hand: protect a family of six who owned a stable and often took in stray and hurt animals. Some of those animals were ‘changers. Eggsy and Harry were to find the ‘changers and oust them with minimal fuss.

Harry, however, told Eggsy far more. He explained the history of the family, and how there was still a kind of miniature war between ‘changers to protect the “royal” blood or eradicate it. Kingsman just so happened to be one of the organizations who preferred to protect. Harry himself saw no reason to kill or save; leave them be and let them live in peace. The ability to shapechange had been bred out of them, and now they were more or less completely unremarkable.

The family consisted of a mother, a father, and four children; Tilde, Clive, Jo, and Anders. It was the children who were in particular danger. The mother and father were not ‘changers, but there was a chance the children might be, and that was simply unacceptable in some circles. Not Kingsman, of course, Harry was certain to add; but some people were just that stupid.

“How old are the kids?” Eggsy asked.

“Tilde is thirteen, Clive is eleven, Jo is seven, and Anders is a baby, around your sister’s age.”

“And people are trying to kill them?!”

Harry shrugged. “The younger they are, the more vulnerable,” he answered tonelessly. His face had gone very enigmatic and quiet. Eggsy had the perturbed thought that Harry might have killed children ere this. He was the best agent Kingsman had, after all.

“I do not target those below the age of majority,” Harry murmured, shaking Eggsy from his uneasy ruminations. “I have… witnessed some killings. It never gets any easier.”

His eyes were shadowed and his mouth turned down; he wasn’t seeing Eggsy anymore. Eggsy didn’t want to know what he was seeing. If it was bad enough to make his unflinching Harry look so sad…

Eggsy stood and strode around the desk to sit on its edge and kiss Harry’s forehead. This broke him out of his reverie immediately, and he stared at Eggsy as if at a brand new species. “Well, if we’re lucky, no kids will be gettin’ killed on our watch,” Eggsy announced, and tweaked Harry’s nose. “Tell me more about what they do on the farm. I ain’t ever been to one.”

So Harry did.


	5. They say it aloud

Merlin took great pleasure in waking Arthur at midnight and requesting an audience. It was worth the grumbles to “ruin” Arthur’s entire day by waking him before eight. It was the little things that mattered.

“I’ve gotten Galahad’s invitation,” Merlin announced, standing beside the fireplace as Arthur peered at him grumpily through sleep-gummed eyes. “He is all set to infiltrate Valentine’s home. I request his mission be shortened by a day, so he can make it in time.”

“No,” Arthur grunted.

Merlin’s smugness deflated, though nothing showed on his face. “Why not?” he asked calmly.

“Because if they aren’t sick of each other after a full week in their other forms, I will abdicate,” Arthur replied curtly. “No true gentleman could handle such a rat for that long.”

A rat? A _rat_? Had Arthur seriously just called Eggsy a—Merlin had much more trouble keeping a straight face this time. Arthur had only ever called one other person a rat, and the whole of Kingsman had banded together to tell him to stuff it or face the consequences of a rebellion. It was the worst thing you could call a dog-changer, at least in their set. And here Arthur was, using the name against one of the most promising candidates since the last search for a Galahad, as if it were just a casual insult, and right to Merlin’s face.

“Well,” Merlin said, “I’ll have your valet pack your suitcase next Friday.”

~\0/~

Elizabeth was making the emergency stash of Galahad’s medicine, because the work was soothing, and she had made this particular formula so many times she did not need all of her attention for it.

She was concerned about Eggsy and Galahad. In her experience, and she had more than most people suspected, usually a bonded pair could hold out only a day or two before acknowledging their bond in some way, _any_ way; Galahad had gone a full week without admitting anything. Oh, Eggsy might see the smallest things, the tics and twitches that no one else noticed, interpret the unreadable looks; but Galahad had never been plain with his feelings, and that was worrying.

Roxy had told her more about Eggsy’s actions away from Galahad and the medical bay, and those were worrying too. Maybe he’d just never been in love before. But that wouldn’t account for…

Merlin opened the door, stepped into the lab, and then slammed the portal closed again. Elizabeth did not jump or look up from measuring powders.

“Hello, sir,” she greeted him calmly.

“Dinna ca’ me sir,” Merlin snapped, rubbing his shiny-bald head. “Ah cannae tak’ bein’ called ‘at.”

“Sorry, ‘Lin.” Elizabeth poured the powdered medicine into the press and began preparing the next batch. “What’d the old toad do this time?”

“He called Eggsy a rat an’ me a divit. Kin his baws wither an’ his tongue fa’ oot.”

Elizabeth looked up from her work and stared at Merlin, who was scowling fiercely at something over her shoulder in the middle distance. “Well, that’s not very nice,” she said.

“Me or ‘im?” Merlin demanded.

“Both of you. First, please stop talking Scots, you’ll only make yourself angrier. Second, I doubt losing his tongue will stop him from calling people rats. Third, I don’t think he has testicles anymore. All that tough-guy talk and you agents jerk him around like he’s on a leash.”

Merlin blinked and stared at her. Then, reluctantly, the scowl lines on his forehead and around his mouth eased. “We dinnae—we don’t,” he corrected himself. “He allows it. He’s Arthur and Alpha. He’d stop us if he wanted to.”

“He’d stop you if he _could_ ,” Elizabeth corrected. “You agents, you’re just like puppies, you know? You’ve gotten into the habit of expecting him to be all-powerful and all-knowing, but you run right over him when you decide to be stubborn. He is not a good pack-leader anymore.”

“If he hears you say that—“

“He’ll turn me out, yes, I know,” Elizabeth snapped. “You’ve been saying that for five years, and look how _that’s_ turned out. He doesn’t care what a “little person” like me thinks. He never has, he never will, and that’s why I can get away with saying what _you_ are only thinking.”

Once again, Merlin was silent for a moment. “Why did you never make it?” he asked finally, softly.

It was rhetorical, she knew, but Elizabeth answered anyway. “You know exactly why. Racism, sexism, class…” It came out more bitterly than she meant, and she sighed. “Let’s not get into that. Just… tell me what happened, ‘Lin.”

~~~\0/~~~

Harry wondered, yet again, how this had happened so quickly.

When he’d finished explaining farm life to the city boy, they had had dinner, which was just leftovers and lots of alcohol. Eggsy had exclaimed that they were the most delicious leftovers he’d ever had, and Harry had, to his utter horror, felt the faintest flush of heat in his face and neck. He hadn’t blushed in… in…

Eggsy had gotten drunk very quickly. Harry had lots of practice, so he hadn’t been nearly as far gone; just far enough to smile instead of frown when Eggsy kissed his cheek, a little clumsily. And then Eggsy had tried to kiss him on the mouth, and Harry panicked, because he wanted more than a kiss, suddenly he wanted so much more, he wanted all of it, and he was hyper-aware of Eggsy’s body so close to his and the way his grin faded uncertainly when Harry stepped away quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Eggsy had asked—slurred, really.

“Nothing,” Harry had murmured, trying to get a hold on his emotions. Eventually he had them, and had poured another drink, despite his trembling hands.

But somehow, in the panicky longing, he’d let Eggsy lead him upstairs, and now it was one in the morning and Eggsy was snuggled against Harry’s chest, quiet and still and reeking of gin. Neither of them had actually undressed for sleeping; Harry was still wearing his tie and belt, and Eggsy’s uniform was twisted. But neither of them minded, as evidenced by the fact that Eggsy was fast asleep and Harry was, tentatively, running his fingertips through Eggsy’s hair. It was soft. His hair. Soft and a little fluffy. Eggsy sighed in his sleep, smiling ever so slightly.

How did it get this far, this fast? Harry didn’t like it. He didn’t like his defenses crumbling so quickly for this one little boy. And he _was_ a boy; almost thirty years younger than Harry, with his whole life ahead of him, so much time to fall in and out of love and someday find his true bondmate—because surely Harry couldn’t be a bondmate, to anyone. Not after what he’s done.

But the tiny instinctual piece of him sang that Eggsy wouldn’t care. Eggsy would take his every piece and every scar and every stain. Just as Harry accepted every piece, scar, and stain of his Egg. His instincts were telling him to give in; to let down the last wall; to be happy.

He turned to common sense, trying to find a reason to stay separate and cold and apart, but common sense was as drunk as the rest of him, and comatose. There was no logic awake in him, and… and that was alright.

Harry wrapped his arms around his Egg and held him tightly for the rest of the night.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy woke with a headache and a smile.

Somehow he and Harry had switched positions; now Harry’s face was pressed against Eggsy’s shoulder, and their legs were tangled together, with the blanket adding to the snarl. Eggsy ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and tried gently to dislodge himself. As soon as he started moving, Harry snapped awake, and his arms around Eggsy tightened. Eggsy croaked a laugh, surprised.

“I gotta piss,” he explained.

Harry squinted suspiciously at him, but loosened his hold. Eggsy wriggled free, got as far as the edge of the bed—and stopped. He did have to pee, very badly; but he didn’t want to leave Harry all sweet and lonely and lovely.

Although most people would argue that Harry was never lovely, or sweet. But they were idiots. Eggsy hesitated, then twisted and leaned back enough to plant the lightest of kisses on Harry’s temple (which definitely woke Harry up) before getting up quickly and hurrying to the bathroom.

It was a very clean bathroom, and he was nervous about messing it up in some way. Although, how could he mess up clean tile, perfect porcelain, and metal? Besides pissing on it wrong? He remembered to wash his hands, and used the towel instead of his jumpsuit. It felt a little strange, being alone in a small, quiet space, instead of having only a half-wall between the toilet and the barracks. He liked it. Privacy was very welcome.

He did not like the hallway. It seemed… gloomy.

But he forgot the gloom when he stepped back into the bedroom and caught Harry half-undressed.

“Ah,” said Harry, his shirt half-off.

“Um,” said Eggsy, trying not to stare.

It wasn’t the scars, although there were quite a few, and it wasn’t the muscles, although they were magnificent and showed absolutely no sign of a paunch, and it wasn’t the hair, which Eggsy found rather becoming. It was something else, some whiff on the air, some kind of subtle change in temperature and air pressure that made him shiver most agreeably, and he could tell that Harry smelt or felt it too because he was very quick in pulling his clothes straight again and saying, “If you are done I need the lavatory now please.”

Eggsy nodded and stepped out of the way. He’d caught the half-breathless edge to those last few syllables, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He knew he didn’t like making Harry nervous or embarrassed; that was the last thing he wanted. But he wasn’t sure how to not do so.

Maybe if he stopped staring and wanting and remembering how good it had felt to kiss and touch him…

Eggsy scowled to himself, and stomped downstairs to start breakfast.

~\0/~

Harry spent a little longer in the shower than usual, hiding from the world—and Eggsy.

It was childish, and silly. What Harry wanted most was to be just as unabashed and affectionate as Eggsy was, and get up the courage to land a few light kisses of his own, and maybe they could hold hands on the train out of London. But the very concept made him uneasy. Now his common sense was awake, and angry. What on Earth had possessed him to let his guard drop that far?! Was he a proper spy or wasn’t he? Spies did not fall asleep in a shared bed. Spies did not share their beds at all unless it was vital to the success of the mission.

At the stables, they would have to share a bed, though. The kennel wasn’t big enough for every dog to sleep alone; and there was always a fair number of them. So he had best get used to the idea of sleeping together.

Alright, fine. He could do that. But the kisses—he couldn’t return them. He didn’t dare. He didn’t like that kind of physical contact. He couldn’t even remember _why_ he didn’t like it. He just knew that when he was very small there was—someone said—no, he shouldn’t think on it. It was long ago and far away.

He’d spent too long standing in the shower. He turned off the water and stepped out, automatically shaking his head because he couldn’t do the full-body shake of a dog. It was why he had nothing on his counters that couldn’t get wet. Habits are hard to break, even if they do make it hard to comb your hair.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy wanted to ask what was wrong at breakfast, when Harry refused to meet his eyes directly and stepped sharply away when he tried to touch Harry’s arm, but he couldn’t really get the words out. He was getting very tired of this game of maybe-so-maybe-not, where Harry first pretended they were still just recruit and recruiter, then he sort of returned Eggsy’s advances, then shut down and went all cold and distant again. Eggsy was worried, and he knew that soon that worry would become anger, and he didn’t want to get angry, he really didn’t.

So breakfast was quiet and uncomfortable.

After they finished eating, they cleaned up thoroughly, and Harry led Eggsy back upstairs to reveal, hidden in the linen closet, the outfit Eggsy had been wearing the day he’d agreed to join Kingsman. Just looking at the little pile of fabric made Eggsy feel queasy. But they were _his_ clothes, and they would fit in better in public than the Kingsman uniform. He dressed in the bathroom, though he wouldn’t have minded undressing in front of Harry, and found that his shirt and jacket and jeans weren’t quite so baggy, and that the chest and shoulders were much more snug, and his legs were bigger around. Well, with all that running…

He looked in the mirror as he adjusted his hat on his head. He did not see the bitter, broken boy that he had been a month and a half ago. He wasn’t sure what he saw; but he knew he was different, and that the differentness was good.

Eggsy grinned at his reflection. Yes. Different was very good.

His grin lingered as he stepped out of the bathroom, trotted down the stairs, and shoved his feet in his boots—his healed-up ankle gave a sudden sting as he twisted it wrong, and he tipped forwards with a yelp—but instead of landing face-down on the floor, he hit something warm and upright with arms that caught him and held him steady.

“Careful,” Harry murmured. “That foot of yours might still be a bit over-worked.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Eggsy said. His face was still planted in Harry’s chest and he was still gripping the sides of Harry’s jacket for balance. He didn’t want to shift away. He liked this. It was comforting and made him happy, to touch his bondmate like this. And if they could just keep standing like this forever… he didn’t care about Kingsman, or the mission, or anything. If they could just stand there in the front hall, holding on to each other, everything would be alright.

“Eggsy…”

Harry’s tone had a strange, unhappy edge to it; but his arms had wrapped around the other tightly, and he did not attempt to pull away. Eggsy shifted his head just enough to look up at Harry.

“What?” he asked.

Harry seemed troubled. Then he took a breath, braced himself, gripped Eggsy’s chin gently, and kissed him. It was wonderful. Eggsy didn’t melt, but he did stretch taller, and press as close as he could; he didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to break away from this feeling, this utter joy, this singing sensation, that finally finally _finally_ Harry was—

And then Harry broke away and let go and stepped back sharply, breathing hard and actually looking a little flushed. Eggsy wanted to grab his ears and pull him down again, but that would not be right. So he got his boot on straight and laced and tied it (the pressure helped steady his ankle a little), and when he straightened again Harry was fine. A little shaken, perhaps, but fine.

“We’re going to be late,” Harry stated flatly.

Eggsy nodded. He would not apologize. It wasn’t his fault. But he wouldn’t expect Harry to ever mention it again.

They were not late, but they were close. They had to run on the platform to get to the train in time, and as soon as they were aboard it started moving. Eggsy was too tired and distracted to notice that Harry did not seem at all out of breath, and every bit of him was still perfectly neat.

They did not get much privacy on the train. They were in a better class of carriage than Eggsy was used to, but it was still more open than he would have liked. And there seemed to be a lot more people than was strictly necessary. He took his seat beside Harry and kept his eyes on the floor, like he usually did on the Underground.

The train ride was long and dull. He would have watched out the windows, but he didn’t want to strain his neck just to see his beloved London left behind. Strange, there was usually a flavor of resentment to his thoughts of London; why did he suddenly miss it so achingly? It was just the leaving for a week thing, he decided. If it were just a daytrip, he’d be reluctant to come home. But he was going to do something in a strange place that made him just the teeniest bit nervous. He missed his hazy grey streets and hazy grey buildings and hazy grey people. At least the sky remained the familiar hazy grey-blue.

Except even the grey began to fade, as the sun rose and swept away the clouds with beams of gold-white, and Eggsy’s fists tightened in his pockets. It was the tail end of summer. Why was the sky still so blue? He’d assumed the Kingsman headquarters were very far and the shuttle was very fast, to be so fresh and isolated, but what if it wasn’t? Fuck. That changed a lot of things.

Or maybe it didn’t. He couldn’t tell anymore. He needed to stop assuming he knew what was going on. Gather information and infer the current state of things, but never assume he was right about every facet and fact.

Maybe he should ask Harry more questions. Not here, though; far too many ears and eyes. But when they got to their destination—when they were secure, and knew they were mostly safe. Then he would beard the dragon in his den and beseech answers.

He never knew what to do with himself on trips like this, so he slid down in his seat and tugged his cap low enough to cover his eyes, and took a nap.

He dreamed many strange things, but before they could coalesce into one whole, Harry shook him awake, and they descended from the carriage to the platform. Harry looked around, searching for someone; Eggsy just rubbed his achy neck and glanced around warily. He caught the eye of a woman about his age, and was startled when she blushed and looked away quickly. He hadn’t even thought of girls since… He looked up at Harry and felt the muscles in his face ease, though he didn’t smile. Why should he long for a woman, when he had his perfect mate right here?

Harry glanced down at him and away. “Mary and John were supposed to meet us here,” he murmured. “Where… ah, there they are. If you are quite finished staring…”

“Hm?” Eggsy stopped contemplating the cleft in Harry’s chin and tried to pay attention to their surroundings again. Coming towards them were two very different-looking people, perhaps in their fifties. The woman was short and dark, her long black hair pulled back in a tight braid, an open expression of welcome on her face; the man was pale and sour-looking, though his sourness lifted a little when he saw Harry.

“Harry!” Mary exclaimed, holding out her hands. Eggsy thought they had dirt on them, as if she’d been working a garden without gloves, until he saw that it was actually dense, lacey designs of some brown ink darker than her skin. Her voice had only the faintest trace of an accent. “It’s wonderful to see you again, you old reprobate.”

Harry took her hands in his and kissed them both. “Wonderful to see you too, Maya,” he answered with a smile. “How are your daughters? Should I frighten off their suitors?”

Maya—Mary—Maya laughed at that. “Oh, you don’t get off that easy! Is this your boy, then?” She turned her smile on Eggsy, and the stirring of jealousy faded as he smiled back. He couldn’t dislike Elizabeth’s mother.

“Yes.” For a moment, Harry looked downright uncomfortable, before he introduced Eggsy just a little too quickly. “He’s my—godson.”

Maya raised one knowing eyebrow, but she said nothing. Instead she turned a little, freeing one hand, and gestured for the surly man to come forward. “Come here, John,” she commanded.

John stumped forward and shook Harry’s hand, then turned to Eggsy and said, “Liza has told us about you. Don’t prove her wrong.”

Harry bristled slightly. Maya gave John a quelling look. Eggsy shrugged. “I’ll try not to, sir,” he answered.

John and Maya—called Mary by almost everyone local—led the way from the station to a car park to a big red truck with a back seat. Harry was a little squashed, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Eggsy disliked the feeling of being enclosed. It reminded him too much of the kennel.

But the scenery was very pretty.

Maya and John lived in a lovely little cottage with ivy climbing all over it, just outside the village. A goat stood in the front lawn, chewing weeds and watching the humans climb out of the truck with enigmatic brown eyes. Eggsy could hear chickens in the garden.

“Come in and have a proper cup of tea,” Maya urged comfortably, “And we’ll gossip about our neighbors.”

~\0/~

“So, um… why a goat?”

Maya shrugged as she poured tea for Eggsy. “The kennel you’ll be visiting is part of a larger farm, and sometimes they give extra animals to those who can afford them, or need them. We were lucky and won a raffle.”

John, already deep in his mug, mumbled something inaudible and cranky. Harry deliberately brushed Eggsy’s knee with his foot as he crossed his legs, and John scowled harder. Eggsy resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at John.

The tea was very good.

They talked of the habits of goats and villagers, and when they finished their tea, Maya introduced Eggsy to the animal chewing thoughtfully on some dandelions out back. Her name was Liddy, short for Lidia, and she gazed at Eggsy for a moment, refused to inspect the hand offered to her, and trotted away to the bottom of the garden in search of more green treats.

“She’s a cat reborn, I swear,” Maya commented dryly.

Harry, having followed them out of the house, stood beside Eggsy and shooed a chicken away with his foot. The chicken immediately returned and pecked his shoe. Harry frowned disapprovingly at it, but decided to ignore it. “Your husband is sulking,” he informed Maya.

“I know,” she sighed, pushing up her sleeves. She looked suddenly rather tired. “He’s not over it. I don’t think he wants to be.”

Eggsy looked between his hostess and his bondmate, confused and unsure how to ask; Harry understood, though, and said bluntly, “He was my lover for a few weeks before he and Maya bonded. I didn’t mind parting ways, but he holds grudges longer than Arthur.”

“Oh.” For some reason, just the thought of Harry having another lover before him made Eggsy’s hands curl into fists and the muscles in his neck and shoulders tighten; he hid the reactions by shoving his hands in his pockets and pretending to shiver a little, shoulders hunching, as he looked around at the openness of the countryside. It was too open. He didn’t like it. He wanted walls to his back. Dwelling on that dismissed the possessive anger quite well.

“Let’s not go back in just yet,” Maya suggested, returning Eggsy’s attention to the others. “Otherwise he’ll fuss. Let’s sit.” She led the way to a small table surrounded by three chairs, just barely in the shade of the little house, and still pleasantly warm from the sun being on them all day. Eggsy settled very close to Harry; not at all on purpose, he told himself firmly.

Maya pretended not to notice, though she smiled ever so slightly. “Liza called—the old man can’t stop her from that—and told us that you’re the most promising candidate, and she’s never wrong about that sort of thing.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, looking just a little smug as Eggsy flushed. “He is.”

“Roxy’s better,” Eggsy muttered, staring at the table.

“I wouldn’t know. Arthur does not allow us _commoners_ ,” the word held a bitterness that made Eggsy blink, “to discuss Kingsman matters. Liza barely managed to tell us a little about you before her boss cut her off.” Maya smiled, a little wanly. “I’m sorry. Thirty years of speaking my mind, words just tumble out.”

“No,” Eggsy answered quietly, allowing himself to show just a little of his eternal anger. “I know just how you feel.”

For a fleeting second, they shared a moment of complete understanding. Then Harry shifted slightly in his seat, and the understanding snapped and faded. Eggsy almost apologized, but caught himself in time; he owed no apologies for his anger. He owed no one anything. And neither did Maya.

“I believe I shall go catch the goat,” Harry announced, stood, and left. Eggsy gave one longing glance to Harry’s back—how could anyone possibly be allowed such a great ass?—before returning his attention to Maya. She smiled suddenly, slyly.

“So how long have you been bound?” she asked.

Eggsy felt himself blush and was immediately angry at himself. But he answered truthfully. “Um… I think since I joined Kingsman. I’m not sure. That’s when _I_ fell for him,” he clarified, almost defensively.

But Maya just smiled wider. “Isn’t it wonderful, when they finally return the favor?” she commented softly.

“Yeah,” Eggsy replied, eyes drawn to where Harry was gently dislodging Liddy for the fence. “It really is.”

Except… Eggsy frowned and turned his attention to his hands, clenched in his lap. Had Harry ever actually said it? Eggsy had tried to, without words, but it was hard when Harry was so… not cold, not his Harry. Scared, maybe. But why would he be scared? Eggsy would never hurt him—never, ever, ever.

He’d been silent too long. He looked up and saw Maya watching him, with that sad twist to her mouth.

“So he’s still the same old repressed Harry,” she deduced.

“I… suppose,” Eggsy muttered. Then, before he could think, he added, “If by ‘repressed’ you mean ‘refuses to say or do anything about it’, yes, he is.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Maya said softly. “He was hurt very badly when he was very young and it’s carried over through the years. Would you like my opinion as an outsider and also Harry’s friend?”

Eggsy barely thought about it. “Please.”

Maya settled herself more comfortably in her chair and folded her hands on the table, looking so much like Eggsy’s mum about to deliver a lecture that Eggsy’s miserable mood had to lighten. “I see a young man full of loyalty and love,” she began, “And a man older than him full of the same. The younger guards his heart, but gladly gives it to those who earn it. He loves wholeheartedly, and his loyalty is unwavering. The elder guards his heart, and has never given it to anyone because he is afraid to. He is afraid of hurt, and humiliation, and being forced, because that is what he expects. That is what he’s seen. He has not seen the better side of loyalty, not until he earned it from the young man who loves him. And now he’s too afraid of losing it to even acknowledge it. It’s a butterfly, or a cat; to turn your attention to it is to lose it. He doesn’t see—yet—that the butterfly and the cat will come back. Set a little something nourishing out for them, and they will return. That is what I see. That is my opinion.”

“But butterflies and cats aren’t really that similar,” Eggsy protested, blushing.

Maya smiled. “Butterflies are fragile, flighty, beautiful little things, like new love. Cats think we’re their kittens; if they leave us, they are sure we will fade away. And we do, without a purr, without a whiskered smile, without soft little underbellies and sharp, stinging claws and teeth. A cat personifies love perfectly. Unless it doesn’t. But isn’t that just like cats?”

Eggsy gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah, it is. It definitely is. But—bonds don’t break. You said—“ Eggsy glanced back, and saw that Harry was approaching, a goat slung over his shoulders that looked very smug.

“Where does this little rogue live?” Harry asked calmly, steadying the creature.

“We’ve got a shed for her,” Maya answered, and stood. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Eggsy stayed in his seat, watching as Maya led Harry away. He wanted to go with them, but what lie would serve best? He couldn’t just trail after them…

Yes he could.

Eggsy stood swiftly and took three steps before the back door opened and John said, “I would like to talk to you.”

Puzzled, Eggsy nodded slowly and went back inside. John held the door, and when Eggsy was safely inside, he closed it with the air of someone trying hard not to slam it. Eggsy was quick to step away and get his back to the kitchen counter, with a clear line to the door from the kitchen to the dining room, and from there to the front hall to the door out. He recognized the face John was pulling. Dean had worn it many times.

John crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a stern stare at Eggsy. “You’re looking for a sugar-daddy, aren’t you,” he stated flatly.

“Wha—no!” Eggsy protested, horrified. A sugar-daddy? Harry? No, the thought was simply abhorrent. And Eggsy had no need for one. “I’d never use him like that.”

“Then what the fuck are you doin’, stringing him along like that?”

“I’m not.” Eggsy fought the animal instincts to attack, and clenched his hands so tight on the lip of the counter that it creaked. “We’re bound, you idiot. I love him.”

A tiny ripple ran through him.

John did not notice, caught on those words. His face was a study in anger and disbelief; again, too similar to Dean, for all that John was shorter and wirier. “You can’t,” John said, still in that flat, rejecting tone. “You’re just a child.”

Eggsy resisted the urge to reply with “am not” or something similar. Another little ripple, all through his insides. It felt… warm. But he had no time to dwell on it. “Why do you care?” he retorted instead. Maybe if John explained himself, he’d see why he was being such a dick. “You’re bound to Maya. She loves you, so why don’t you love her back?”

“I do,” John snapped, finally showing emotion in his voice. “She’s my sun—my moon, my stars. My everything.”

“So why are you still stuck on Harry?”

“Because—“ John stopped suddenly, staring at Eggsy. His mouth worked for a moment, but no sound came out. Then he looked away, out the window into the garden. Eggsy didn’t dare remove his attention from John. That was how he’d ended up in the hospital the first time Dean got drunk enough to forget his promise to Michelle.

Finally, John turned back to Eggsy. His face was cold and closed. “Don’t hurt him,” he intoned, and then stomped out of the room, through the dining room and up the stairs.

Eggsy couldn’t help heaving a sigh of relief, which hitched a little as a third warm ripple passed through him. He’d said it. Finally, he’d said it. He’d wanted to keep it, hold on to it, wait and then give it to Harry first—but surely Harry wouldn’t mind.

Yes he would.

He’d better hurry, then. The ripples were increasing in frequency, until he felt like he was vibrating with the urge, the _need_ , to tell Harry. It had felt so beautifully right to say it. He couldn’t wait—he ran to the door to the garden, yanked it open, stepped out, looked around—and froze.

There was a dog waiting, a setter, barely an inch from the arc of the door. It gazed up at Eggsy solemnly, and its plumed tail twitched in greeting.

“Harry?” Eggsy asked.

The dog nodded.

Eggsy fell to his knees with a thump and ran his hand over the setter’s ears and skull; it half-closed its eyes and actually leaned into Eggsy’s touch. He thought he might burst with happiness. “Harry, I have to tell you—“

“Where’s John? Oh, I’m sorry,” Maya apologised, spotting the look on Eggsy’s face as he looked up sharply. “I’m interrupting.” There was a moment of silence as the three ‘shifters all looked at each other. Then, slowly, Maya began to smile. Perhaps she saw Eggsy’s impatience. “I’ll just go inside now.” She did so, handing down a pile of neatly-folded clothing to Eggsy, before stepping delicately around him and calling for her husband.

Harry the Dog stuck his nose in Eggsy’s face. Eggsy kissed it on impulse, grinning as Harry shook his head, as if to get rid of water or mud. Then Eggsy hugged him around the neck, burying his face in the silky fur.

“You need to change back soon,” he whispered. “I got something I need to tell you.”

~\0/~

Harry waited patiently through the afternoon and evening for Eggsy to say what he was obviously desperate to say; but John appeared to have decided to be difficult. He refused to stop lingering in doorways wherever Harry was, and was never out of earshot when Eggsy spoke to Harry or vice versa. The only time John left them alone was when Maya got sharp with him.

That night, they prepared for the journey ahead. Harry brought out a little metal case, and from the case he brought forth two syringes. Eggsy looked at them (they shared a room, naturally, so they were both sitting on the bed) and groaned.

“I don’t need any more shots!” he protested. “I already got all mine, the first week of training.”

“Not this shot, you haven’t,” Harry retorted calmly, drawing the appropriate amount of liquid from the correct bottle. “These are the nanochips. They’ll enter your bloodstream and circulate, and concentrate on your vital organs and bones. As long as a single fragment of your body is intact, we can track you to the nearest millimeter. It’s also helpful for if part of you gets cut off. Merlin got the idea from a scifi book.”

“Oh.” Eggsy didn’t complain after that. He did, however, give a coy grin when Harry had finished the injection and ask innocently, “Kiss it better?”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, or at least refuse; but Eggsy’s arm was bare and the warmth of his scent was almost irresistible. So Harry leant forward and brushed the faintest peck on the injection sight. It wasn’t nearly as good as the kiss they’d shared that morning, but it was enough to drive him to distraction. So good… he smelled so, so good… and Harry hadn’t moved away, his lips still brushing Eggsy’s arm…

Vaguely he was aware that Eggsy was breathing a little quicker than usual, and that the scent was changing, and their bodies were reacting to each other in a most pleasing manner. But there was a cold nugget of fear in the center of Harry’s chest, reminding him that this was most probably all wrong, and they would pay for this in the morning.

Eggsy slid his hand under Harry’s chin and tugged him up just far enough to kiss him on the mouth. It was delicious. And when they parted, just a hairsbreadth away, breathing each other’s breath, Eggsy murmured, “I was gonna tell you earlier. I… love you.”

The fear exploded, filling every nook and cranny, shoving the warmth away, making his hands and feet go cold, ruining his hunger—but this was Eggsy. His Egg. His precious, beautiful Egg. He’d never… not like _they_ had. Eggsy would never be like that. Tentatively, the warmth trickled back, and the memory of the kiss drew feeling back into his limbs. Eggsy would not hurt him.

This took perhaps a millionth of a second.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly. “I… return the sentiment.”

Eggsy grinned, relieved, joyful, joyous, and kissed Harry again. He could get used to this, Harry thought to himself.

There was a knock on the closed door, and they broke apart immediately, Eggsy panting and flushed, Harry feeling a little dazed. “Are you ready to go?” Maya called, voice muffled. “Or are you being silly?”

“We’re almost ready,” Harry replied, turning back to the syringes. Eggsy picked up the unused needle and bottle and filled the former from the latter because Harry’s hands were shaking ever so slightly. “Just a moment.”

“What _is_ this?” Eggsy asked, even as he tied the tourniquet around Harry’s arm.

“Medicine,” Harry answered shortly. “It’s… not as strong as the stuff I was taking.”

Eggsy did not ask for more information. He did, however, give the injection site a little kiss. Harry smiled reluctantly, and touched Eggsy’s lip…

“You’d better hurry, or you’ll miss your chance.”

Harry sighed and stood, pulling Eggsy to his feet as well. “Let’s go,” he murmured.

~~~\0/~~~

Later that night, two dogs slipped out the back door of the ivy-covered cottage, crept through the garden, and escaped into the fields. One was an English setter, its tail a banner, and one was a bouncy little corgi.

~\0/~

“Spec Spec Spec Spec!”

Three children came pelting down the lane to greet the setter, babbling hellos and stroking its silky ears and neck. Only when the setter had been properly greeted did the eldest child, a teen named Tilde, look at the corgi close at Spec’s heels and say, “Another stray? We’ve barely got room. But this one is small enough, mum won’t mind.”

The corgi grinned at her.

The child called Clive and juvenile Jo ran back to the house to tell their parents that Spectacles was back and had brought a friend. Tilde knelt and gave the corgi a quick check: no fleas or ticks, no open wounds or sores (no old wounds either), no pains in its joints; and the little dog was remarkably patient and cooperative. Then again, all of Spec’s friends were good dogs.

A woman barely older than Tilde who was obviously not the mother came first, her cloud of curls bound tightly back in a ponytail, dark eyes dancing as she spotted the two canines. She smiled at the corgi like she knew it—him—and addressed both dogs briskly. “Well, it’s early for extra mouths, but you’re both welcome to breakfast. I’m sure Mother and Father will be delighted. Come on!” She gave a cheerful whistle, and the dogs and Tilde followed her back inside eagerly.

Mother greeted them in the hall. She eyed the corgi askance, then turned to the other woman. “Well, Dee? What’s his name?” she asked.

Dee grinned. “Sausage,” she answered with certainty.

Mother shook her head, but with a small smile. “Well, let’s feed these rascals, then give them a proper go-over. I hope you haven’t picked up anything, Spectacles.”

Spec sneezed, as if to say, How dare you even think such a thing.

Breakfast was out back. The kennel was actually very large, and full of dogs who greeted Spec with just as much enthusiasm as the humans. Spec waded into the pack, sniffing politely, and introduced everyone to Sausage, who kept very close to him. Mother and Dee filled the food bowls, while Tilde ran off to help Father with the horses. Clive helped by feeding the puppies; there were always puppies, and Clive was only just old enough to haul a bag of kibble across the floor.

When breakfast was done, the dogs were turned loose—for a few moments. Then handlers came, and took some dogs away, and then some others, and then another group, and then it was only Spec, Sausage, and the other new mongrel, Jade. Jade was a sad specimen, even cleaned up, bandaged, and fed; she shrank from the humans, yet had no trouble with Dee, even licking her hands when Dee knelt beside her to gently check her bandages. And Jade seemed particularly taken with Sausage, sniffing him all over and making him uncomfortable. But he was polite and did not frighten her.

“She’s not ready,” Dee announced sadly, placing a feather-light hand on Jade’s freshly-shaven neck. There was a scar from a chain collar that had become embedded, and only Dee could touch it without being bit. “Another few days. Can she have them? Please?”

Mother sighed and nodded. “Yes. I’ll not push her, not when she’s improving so much. Help me put Sausage through his paces, and Spec can keep Jade company.”

Spec placed himself by Jade and went immediately into Guard Mode. Dee smiled, and Sausage, after one last glance, followed her and Mother out of the kennel.

The goats were cropping the lawn near the obstacle course. They looked up and stared at Sausage, who sneezed at them. The kid named Kevin clopped over and sniffed him thoroughly before sneezing back and head-butting him playfully. Sausage butted back, and soon was surrounded by baby goats, who were all taller than him and yet had less mass, and were climbing all over him. He seemed completely okay with this, but Dee and Mother shooed the kids away and ran Sausage through the obstacle course. He passed with flying colors.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you,” Mother teased the little dog.

Sausage grinned up at her and barked, his tail wagging so hard his entire backside wiggled.

After a day of hard work, Spec and Sausage were given pride of place on the rug in front of the empty hearth. They shared it with Bull, a huge old Great Dane whose arthritis was just beginning, and the Chihuahua Phoebe. Phoebe did not like Sausage. Sausage did not like Phoebe. They kept as far apart as possible. Spec sighed, but did nothing.

It did not escape anyone’s notice that Sausage and Spec refused to be parted. This was unlike Spec. But things change in three years. There was always tomorrow to figure it out.

Until tomorrow, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to add this earlier because I'm a ditz but I just wanted to say thank you for reading and for your comments and kudos and all that. You guys are the reason I'm still writing this silliness and I'm ever so grateful. <3


	6. Mentions of goats

Sausage took one look at the herd of seven cows and balked.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” Dee encouraged, tugging his leash ever so gently. “You rounded up the sheep so nicely, too.”

Sausage gave her an impatient glance, and sat down right where he was. The message was clear. Dee chose to ignore it.

“You don’t get to see Spec until you do this.”

The little dog stood immediately and trotted towards the cows.

It had only been four days, but it was obvious that Sausage already knew what he was doing. He completed every task, if not perfectly, then mostly so, and he was intelligent enough to learn what he didn’t know at lightning speed. Dee laughed and took him in hand when most of the other trainers began to talk of asking around at other farms, to see if anyone had lost a dog. But it was the herding that flummoxed the poor puppy. He simply could not do it.

The sheep had been easy because the sheep were used to being herded by dogs of all sizes. So despite Sausage’s failings, they went where he directed, whether he was overenthusiastic or extremely timid, swinging wide around them or getting too close. He obviously had the instinct, and seemed as frustrated as his handlers had been, but he couldn’t do it properly at all.

Dee had been the one to insist he get started on the cows. Mother had been reluctant, but Father, who was most afraid of ‘stealing’ Sausage, pointed out that the sooner he learned, the sooner they could return him. Clive had chimed in in favor of keeping Sausage, but that was mostly because he liked the little doggy immensely. Jo did, too. Whenever none of them were being watched, it was almost certain that the three would be playing together.

But cows? Sausage was not ready for those. “He barely managed sheep,” Mother had reminded, her hands on her hips. “He’ll get squashed.”

“No he won’t,” Dee had replied with unshakable certainty. “I won’t let him be.”

So Sausage was given the cows.

“Now you must be brave, my friend,” Dee murmured, as she knelt to unhook the leash from Sausage’s new collar. “Don’t let them push you around. You can do it, little bud.” And she whistled very softly, a run of notes that seemed to impart a little confidence to those who heard. Sausage looked up at her and grinned a doggy-grin, his tongue lolling ridiculously. Dee smiled back and rubbed his ears gently.

The cows eyed Sausage warily as he trotted towards them, utterly nonchalant… and then he lunged, and the cow he’d aimed at started and stumbled, then began to head in the opposite direction as Sausage. Another butted at him, perhaps annoyed; he nipped in just the right place, and the cow jumped, backing away before it turned away and followed the first.

Dee grinned, and gave another piercing whistle-tune, meant just for Sausage. The cattle flicked their ears, but Sausage drew further courage, and drove them in the right direction, darting everywhere at once, in patterns he had not learned here; but they worked. The cattle did what he told them, and moved where he directed, and when they were safely in their pen, Sausage sat outside the fence, panting, and grinned up at Dee, as if asking for approval. She laughed and did so, stooping to scratch his ears as she closed the fence and secured it.

“You’re such a good boy,” she praised Sausage, picking him up and snuggling him, ignoring the dirt and cow shit all over his paws and underside. “The pack who whelped you would be so proud.”

Sausage put his chin on her shoulder and wagged his tail.

~\0/~

Elizabeth finished relating her cousin Dee’s report, and waited for Arthur to give evidence he’d even heard her. Sometimes he tended to forget that Elizabeth was even part of Kingsman. Never mind—it was important that it be known that, instead of getting tired of each other, Galahad and Eggsy had grown closer. And Friday, and Galahad’s main mission, were drawing near.

Eventually Arthur looked up and frowned at Elizabeth. She returned the look with one of absolute serenity and coolness.

“You informant is trustworthy?” he inquired, for the fifth time.

“Yes, sir,” Elizabeth repeated. “She’s as trustworthy as they get. She reports only to me, and she’s never lied.” At least, never when it counted.

“Hmm.” Arthur looked very sour. He never liked relying on outside sources, and any informant of Elizabeth’s was suspect. “Alright. We’ll bring Galahad back for this… gala. Then he may return and fetch—Eggsy.” His face was even more sour as he said the name.

Elizabeth resisted the urge to ask snidely when he was abdicating. Instead she answered sweetly, “Shall I inform all interested parties, sir?”

Arthur waved a hand at her, a dismissal and a granting of permission. Elizabeth inclined her head instead of bowing—did Arthur even notice?—and left the room. All interested parties. Did Arthur even know who that vague group included? Of course not. So Elizabeth grinned viciously, and skipped down the hall to the library, where all the agents who could be spared were waiting. First them, then the rest of the medical staff; Merlin would tell the techies. Those who were worried for Galahad and Eggsy, which was pretty much everyone (they were both great favorites and well respected), would know soon that their mission was going well and their bond was growing stronger.

Elizabeth threw open the library doors and announced to the menfolk, “Arthur said I can tell you everything. What do you want to know first?”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy was actually enjoying himself.

He liked the dogs, even though most seemed very stupid compared to JB. He liked the cats, who treated him with vague approval. He liked the horses, who shared their apples with him. He loved the goats, and especially how the kids would frolic with him every morning. He even liked the cows and sheep, though they were even stupider than the dogs.

He did not like the people.

Except for the children, whom he loved from the start (and how could he not, being a big brother and all), the only humans he could stand were Dee and Mother, and Dee only because she was related to Elizabeth. It was the gleam in her eyes and the mischievous smile that gave it away. The others, like Father and the stablehands and the other kennel workers, were annoying. They were always smacking Eggsy with rolled-up newspapers, albeit very lightly; never in Dee’s or Mother’s presence, of course. Mother snapped at them for hitting her dogs, and Dee got downright nasty. It was very much like a lighter version of Dean. Remembering such things made him tense and nervous, and that made him bad at whatever he was trying to learn, which earned him another smack, which reminded him of…

It was a vicious cycle, and the only way to break it was to sit or lie very close to Harry and kiss him. Harry rarely returned the gesture, but each one was precious to Eggsy. Even in dog form, he couldn’t help feeling those little shivers of bliss so complete it made his heart hurt.

The goats understood. They bleated laughter when they caught the cuddlers, but since he couldn’t speak Goat, he didn’t know what they were saying. They knew what he said, though. The kids even tried to pronounce things in Dog, which was hilarious. Eggsy did not laugh, in case he hurt their feelings. He did not want to lose the friendship of the goats.

On Friday, Eggsy and Dee were returning from another successful herding session with the cattle when Harry trotted from the stables and straight to them. Eggsy broke from Dee and bounced to his Harry, circling him and talking in excited yips.

“Harry, Harry, I did it! I got all of them! I—what’s wrong?” For Harry was not his usual encouraging self, watching Eggsy solemnly and not even telling him to calm down. Whatever it was, was serious.

“I have to leave,” Harry told Eggsy frankly. “Now. Otherwise I’ll be late.”

“Leave?” Eggsy leaned on Harry’s shoulder. “Am I coming with you?”

“No.”

“But—“ Eggsy nudged him, distressed and trying not to show it. “What am I s’posed to do?”

“Manage.” Harry gave him a kiss between the ears and leaned back on him for a moment before stepping away. “You can do it, darling. I’ve identified our counterpart; just keep an eye on him, and I’ll be back in two days. And obey the tyrants.”

Eggsy’s surprise and uneasiness turned to anger at himself—and well it should. Of course he could manage. Just because he couldn’t imagine not coming back from a day’s work to kisses and snuggles… But they could do that later. Harry had other responsibilities. _Eggsy_ had responsibilities. It would be alright, and it would just be for a couple days.

His nose twitched. He became aware of Dee still standing beside them, her hands on her hips, a sober, somber look on her face. “I know that face, Spec,” she told the setter, quite as if she knew he would understand. “You’re planning on leaving. Well, let us keep your baby for a bit. Just until he’s got this down pat. Then you can fetch him.”

“It’s only for a couple days,” Harry woofed back, sounding amused.

Eggsy started when Dee grinned and replied, “It doesn’t matter if it’s a couple days or a couple weeks, we’re gonna have to keep him busy to stop him from pining. And that means finding work that—“

“Who are you talking to?” Clive interrupted, popping up out of nowhere. Eggsy jumped and ran into Harry, who simply wuffled a laugh. “Oh. Wait, is Spec leaving again?”

“Yes,” Dee told him calmly. “Don’t be sad. He’ll be back, if only to fetch Sausage. Say goodbye, now.”

Clive pouted, but wrapped his arms around Spec’s neck and hugged him tightly. “G’bye, Spec. You come back quick, okay?”

Spec nuzzled him briefly, licked Sausage’s ears, butted Dee’s hip, then trotted away, wiggling through the hedge and vanishing in the field beyond. Sausage gave a single little whine, but did not follow.

Dee sighed. “He’s so bad at goodbyes,” she murmured to no one in particular. Then she reached down and picked up both Clive and Sausage, settling the boy on her hip and the dog under her arm. “Let’s go in and break the news, shall we?

~\0/~

Harry was uncertain why he was so affectionate all of a sudden, except that something, some barrier, had eroded over the week; and it had started with that admittance.

But he had to put such uneasy thoughts out of his mind for this mission. He was simply James Duvere, billionaire and conservationist. He slid seamlessly into character, adjusting his bowtie to make sure the secondary camera and mic were in place. Merlin got grumpy when Harry insisted on backups, especially the old-fashioned ones, but truly, there was no such thing as being too prepared on a mission of this nature. And it was always easier to analyze recordings when there were two sources.

When they reached the Valentine estate, Harry—James—frowned to see that his was the only car there. His gut tightened in a sadly familiar way. This was not going to go as planned at all.

But James Duvere exited Harry Hart’s car and stood before the door, giving one wary glance behind and around himself—billionaires all have enemies, after all—before knocking firmly. He expected a butler or maid, or maybe even another guest; not the host himself, who beamed at him like an old friend.

“Mr. Duvere! It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Valentine greeted James.

“I’m awfully sorry, I seem to have my dates muddled up,” James replied politely, resisting the urge to, most impolitely, glance beyond his host into the house he was not sure he was welcome in.

“Oh, no, I canceled the gala because of _you_!” assured Valentine, still grinning. He did not notice, or pretended not to notice, how James’ blink lasted a millisecond longer than usual. “Anyone willing to donate that amount of money deserves his own dinner party. Come in!”

“…Thank you.”

~\0/~

Just after dinner, when the dogs were all being shut in the kennel, Sausage whipped around and darted for the door, held open by a distracted kennel worker; Dee caught him just in time, and knelt to whisper soothingly.

She was not whispering, and it was not soothing; she hissed, “What’re you _doing_?! He’s safe for now, he doesn’t need you barreling up to the door with the Huntsmen at your back! And anyway, we’re too far, you’ll get caught or hurt. _Think_ , Eggsy!”

The corgi trembled in her arms, letting out a single desperate whine. His eyes had never looked more human.

“I know,” Dee whispered, gathering him to her chest and rocking him gently. “I know, I know. Your Music is all woven with his now, but it’s okay. He can take care of himself. And if he can’t, we _will_ call the Huntsmen and sic ‘em.” She did not kiss him; she knew he’d bite her. But she could hold the trembling little dog, and ignore the stares of human and canine alike; and she could watch the new wolfhound from under a curtain of curls, her mouth hard, her eyes steely. If he thought he was safe, now that Harry was gone… well. He’d be in for a rude awakening.

~\0/~

He did not want to give his report over breakfast, but he had to, if he wanted to get back to the farm and Eggsy as quickly as possible.

They were to meet in the dining room in the club above the shop. It was nice that Harry was allowed to sleep in his own bed, lonely though it was, instead of going straight to HQ. But he was still annoyed. Arthur need not know that, though.

After his report on Valentine, Arthur told him about other notable personages that had gone missing. Harry felt a sting of guilt, that he hadn’t been paying more attention to the disappearances. But they could not be linked to Valentine as of yet, and Valentine was his target.

“I am giving you this mission as well,” Arthur informed him, “As soon as you finish at the farm next Friday.”

“I was under the impression we would be returning tomorrow,” Harry mentioned, fighting a frown.

“Training missions have been extended a week. Something vital has come up. That is all. Now shoo.”

Harry stayed in his seat, gazing at Arthur levelly and coolly. ‘Shoo’? Arthur had seriously said ‘shoo’? That was not acceptable. Peers did not tell each other to ‘shoo’.

Arthur stared back, frowning slightly; then he realized his mistake, and sighed. “I apologise,” he said humbly, and not at all apologetically. “I am too used to Charlie. That is all I have for you. Have you anything else for me?”

“Yes. Should we eliminate the other shifter just to be sure?”

“Shifter?”

“Shapeshifter. I’ve picked it up. Should we dispose of him?”

“No. No, just watch him.”

Harry nodded, stood, and left.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy did as he had been ordered, and watched.

Harry hadn’t said which dog was their ‘counterpart’, but Eggsy took to patrolling the kennel at night, and soon he began to smell something familiar, something sharp that made him think of a not-so-nice human person; and the smell came from a certain wolfhound that had come in only a day after Harry and Eggsy.

He was a hulk of a hound, aware in a way dogs weren’t, and just a little too polite and discreet. He was always vanishing into shadows, despite his size; perhaps on his own patrols. Eggsy had noticed him vaguely, watching Eggsy learn to herd, but he’d never paid much attention. He should have. It was something he was sure Harry would want to know, and not out of jealousy.

Eggsy became aware that the wolfhound was following him. No one else seemed to notice, another testament to the hound’s sneakiness. Eggsy weighed the pros and cons, and decided that he would rather have his secret revealed than lose any advantage, in case the hound decided human form would be easier in the task of getting Eggsy out of the way.

But first—if he was going to risk everything by being prepared to ‘shift at a moment’s notice—he needed clothing.

It was ridiculously easy to steal a pair of jeans in Eggsy’s size; a couple of stableboys lived in with the family, and one of them was very bad at cleaning his room, or keeping the door shut. All Eggsy had to do was get into the house, sneak into the boy’s room, grab a wad of denim with no pants in it, and run back to the kennels. He planned the timing just as all the people were sitting down to dinner, so no one saw him trotting from house to kennel, head high so he didn’t trip on his prize.

The other dogs looked at him funny—it was known that Sausage disliked most humans, though he obeyed them when he had to—but did not comment as he hid the jeans under his bed. Then he lay on the lump, sighed, and slept. It was always better to be prepared.

It was also easy to see that the enemy was preparing to do something. He shadowed the children, acting affectionate, trying to get into their good graces; Eggsy did not show that he knew exactly what the bastard was doing. Instead, he did his best to do well at his tasks, and learn what he was taught. That was the quickest way to earn the approval of the children. Win over the adults, and the children would follow their lead, even if they didn’t mean to.

Also he really did want to learn how to herd. The dog side of him was desperate to act on its instincts; the human side, which he’d been training to keep in control at all times, was overwhelmingly sick of going through the same motions over and over again. But he had to learn the motions. He had to give in, just this once, just on this one thing. He was a working-class dog. He had to work.

Harry didn’t return when he said he would. This almost drove Eggsy to distraction—almost. Without Harry there to be his constant, he had to rely on himself, and he was so used to doing so that it was easy to simply turn on the habits he’d learned that had kept him alive all those years. He gave no grins except to Dee and the children. He kept away from those who would hurt him, although he could not escape the hound. He growled when another dog got too near. And he watched. All the time, he watched everything.

The humans began to frown when they looked at the little dog who had suddenly lost most of his affectionate nature. The other dogs respected him, and kept away. The wolfhound began to shadow him instead of the children, as if he knew.

On the fourth day of Harry not being back yet, the wolfhound approached the corgi at dinner and woofed quietly, “I know who you are.”

“That’s nice,” Eggsy growled back, crouching over his food bowl. “Will you back off?”

The wolfhound politely stepped back, but did not leave. “I can’t. They’re a menace to our society. They must be removed.”

“They ain’t menacing anyone. They’re just kids!”

“They will grow. And then what will happen? Better to remove the uncertainty than to let it go bad.”

“Who says they’ll go bad? And what bad could they possibly do? They’ve got half of Britain against them.”

The wolfhound sneezed laughter at this innocent little puppy. The innocent puppy bristled and contemplated biting him. “Have you forgotten your history? Half is more than enough to do a great deal of damage.”

“They’d never do that. They’re good kids. They’re gonna grow up great. They don’t even know about their family history!”

“But what if they find out?”

“That can be prevented!” Eggsy snarled, losing his temper completely and ignoring how the other dogs around them were slowly backing away. “You’re just a bloodthirsty fuckface who wants to kill something! You’re letting your instincts fuck you over. Get a fucking grip!”

The wolfhound blinked. Then he tilted his head, eyeing the corgi. Then he lunged.

But Eggsy wasn’t there anymore, and the wolfhound’s teeth closed on nothing. Eggsy launched himself and hit the wolfhound’s side, bruising it hard, a maneuver he’d learned from the goats. He did not want to kill the other, or draw blood; just make him back down.

The hound, however, was bent on murder.

The fight was brisk, Eggsy dodging and nipping and tangling the hound in his own feet, the hound snapping and snarling and trying to pin the smaller dog. One powerful whack sent Eggsy tumbling head over paws; one accidentally vicious bite lamed the hound’s right front paw. Finally Eggsy’s instincts won the battle in his head, and he lunged for the hound’s throat.

The hound twisted, dodged, and his teeth closed on Eggsy’s ear, piercing and ripping it badly.

Eggsy roared his pain and fury, but it came out as a series of yips. Without thinking, he shifted back into human form, one hand pressed to his ripped ear, the other arm wrapping tightly around the hound’s neck, elbow at his throat, and began to squeeze, cutting off the other’s air—

Pounding feet. Eggsy changed back quicker than thought, and the hound stumbled, gasping for breath. He lunged again, just as Dee, Mother, Tilde, and one of the stableboys skidded into view, but he was bruised and his paw was hurt and he was still gasping, and so when Eggsy leapt sideways, he fell into a heap and sprawled there, chest heaving.

The other dogs were huddled in corners, as far away from the combatants as possible. Eggsy did not look away from his opponent, though his torn ear throbbed pain deep into his skull, and he knew that the growl coming from his throat was not at all that of a thinking animal.

“Sausage,” Dee called softly into the silence. “Eggsy, come back. You won. Come back, Eggsy.”

And, slowly, Eggsy did. The tension slid out of him; his entire body drooped. Slowly, he turned around the face the humans.

With a snarl, his enemy leapt.

Eggsy didn’t even have time to turn all the way before a bullet of russet slammed into the hound and sent him flying. Barks of surprise, shouts from the humans, and the bullet resolved into the setter named Spec, pinning the hound on his back, teeth clenched on his throat.

The hound lay very still, and did not even whine. He did, however, piss himself.

“Harry, stop it,” Dee ordered, much less softly. “Eggsy was doing very well on his own.”

Harry did not let go, but he did flick his eyes to Eggsy. Eggsy grinned, trying to show he was alright; but blood was dripping into his ear, and it hurt too much to shake his head and get it out.

After another pregnant pause, Harry let go and trotted back to Eggsy, kissing him briskly all over his muzzle and ear. Eggsy knew it was supposed to be grooming, but it still made his head giddy and his tail wag briskly.

“Are—you—al—right?” Harry asked between licks. It came out as gentle, worried little whines.

“I’m fine,” Eggsy wuffled back, butting Harry’s chest gently. “My ear hurts, that’s all.”

Humans came and pulled them apart, but Eggsy growled and Harry bared his teeth and the hands let go quickly. Harry went back to kissing Eggsy, who could barely return the gesture through the onslaught.

Eventually Spec calmed enough for someone to properly muzzle his pup. Tilde held Sausage as Mother put pressure on and bandaged the ear, saying, “We need to get him to the vet. Who was supposed to be supervising dinner?”

Sheepishly, the boy Eggsy had stolen from raised his hand. Everyone fixed him with a hard, angry stare. He hung his head and mumbled some sort of apology, and a promise not to do it again. Spec continued to nuzzle Sausage, and Sausage’s tail continued to wag like fury.

Spec came along to the vet’s, too, sitting in the back seat with Tilde, who held Sausage on her lap and kept him still. Mother drove, and the shamed stableboy came too, because Mother had decided he should pay the vet’s bills. Sausage wondered why there was no vet at the kennel, until Tilde asked timidly why they couldn’t just sew the ear up back home, and Mother answered, “Because we’re out of anesthesia. If we still had some I’d do it myself, but your father forgot to order any.”

“Oh.”

Sausage was strangely calm, though Spec was obviously worried, and Tilde watched the corgi warily. Perhaps it was just shock. Perhaps not. Still, it was odd.

The stableboy carried Sausage into the vet’s, with Mother leading and Tilde trailing after, Spec at her side, though he often raised his nose and gave Sausage a sniff, to make sure he was still alright. There was no one else there, and Sausage was taken to the surgery quickly and drugged half out of his little mind while his ear was mended.

Spec tried to follow, but Mother grabbed his collar and kept him back as the door swung closed. Instead of biting her, he whined as pitifully as a puppy, pawing at the door and dancing a little in place, obviously even more distressed than before.

“No,” Mother said sternly, though her expression was wondering as well. “Go sit with Tilde.”

Spec looked up at her, put his ears back, and whimpered.

Mother turned him and gave him a gentle nudge towards Tilde, who had taken a seat in the waiting room. Slumping, looking as dejected as a dog could, Spec slunk to Tilde and curled up at her feet, eyes on the door to the surgery. Tilde looked up at her mother with worried, wondering eyes; Mother shrugged, also confused. Spec had never been anything more or less than a complete gentleman of a dog, and now he was acting as if Sausage were his…

A light flipped on in Mother’s mind. She eyed Spec curiously. But no, there was no way to be certain. They’d just have to wait and see.

~\0/~

Harry almost fret himself to flinders, but after what felt like an eternity, the vet said it was alright for Sausage to return to the kennel. He was still woozy and flinched when anything came near his head, but he smiled when he saw Harry, and wagged his tail.

Relief swept through the setter, making his knees tremble and his tail whip—until he saw that half of Eggsy’s ear was gone, and the rest was bandaged lightly.

“’Fraid we couldn’t keep most of it,” the vet lied with a straight face when Mother asked sharply what had happened. “Whatever bit him nearly ripped it in two.”

“That ear was whole and could’ve been saved when we brought him in!” Mother snapped. “I should know, I’ve worked with these creatures all my life! You’re just a lazy ham-handed idiot! We’re going.” And with that decree, the three people and two dogs whisked out and back into the van without even bothering to finish the paperwork.

Harry felt rage seething in his chest, but most of his mind and heart were fixed on his dear Egg, and he forced himself to take no notice of anything but him. He couldn’t look at Eggsy’s cropped ear. It hurt to see. Too late—he’d been too late—Eggsy wouldn’t have had to fight, wouldn’t have had to be injured like this—

But the information Maya had given him had been too vital to wait. A crucial piece for a cold case puzzle that could finally land someone in jail; it could not have waited. Harry took it straight to Merlin, bypassing Arthur’s fusty, stalling self. And yet, Harry couldn’t stop thinking that if he’d just waited—if he’d come straight back…

“Stop beating yourself up,” Eggsy wuffled woozily. “It ain’t your fault.”

“I could have prevented this,” Harry retorted. “You never would’ve had to get in that fight.”

“But at least I know what _not_ to do the next time I fight, eh?”

Harry kissed his nose. “Which won’t be for a good long while. Not if I can help it.”

Eggsy just grinned again.

~~~\0/~~~

Sausage was settled in an empty kennel with a cone of shame strapped to him. He seemed disinclined to scratch, but that might have been the drugs. Spec carried his food bowl to him, and then his favorite chew-toy, and then his favorite length of rope so they could play tug-of-war when he was feeling a little better. Jade stood guard while the gate was open, growling at humans and dogs alike when they got too close. Spec and Sausage did not seem to mind; in fact, Spec seemed welcoming of her aid, even giving her half the treats he’d been given for taking such good care of Sausage. The other half of the treats, of course, ended up in Sausage’s food bowl.

Spec was extremely protective and attentive for the rest of the week. He only let people in to check on Sausage’s ear, and when they were done he herded them out again. Sometimes goats got into the kennel at night—they’d taken a shine to Sausage—and surrounded them both, a barrier of horns and teeth and ever-watchful, slit-pupiled eyes. Because of course Spec would not sleep anywhere but at Sausage’s side, curled around the smaller dog, waking every so often to sniff and kiss him. It was very odd.

So odd, in fact, that when Sunday came and the two of them vanished like they’d never been, it was considered the least odd thing to ever happen regarding those two.

“Maybe they left to take Sausage back home,” Clive suggested gloomily, as he and his sisters fed the goats.

Tilde shrugged, looking melancholy. “I’m just hoping he heals up properly,” she admitted. “He’ll never be a showdog, that’s for sure.” Tilde was convinced Sausage had been bred for show, since he was such a well-made specimen, but she was alone in this thought.

“They don’t care about looks in herding competitions,” Clive reminded her.

“I know that! Just help me dump the rest of this in the trough before they eat it all out of the buckets.”

~\0/~

Elizabeth sighed and inspected Eggsy the corgi’s torn ear gently. It was already healing well; from what Harry had described, it hadn’t needed cropping. “Well, you’ll still have most of it when you change back,” she informed the little dog. “I wouldn’t change yet, though, if I were you. It might break open again.”

Eggsy sighed.

“I know, but do you really want to go through the whole process again?” Elizabeth sighed too and smoothed the fur down his neck. “One of the worst parts about being a ‘changer; it’s hard to do surgery or a prosthetic that will survive both forms. Basic stitching and bone-setting, that survives, of course, otherwise ‘changers would’ve died out millennia ago; but I can’t give you fake ears.”

Eggsy snorted. Elizabeth grinned. “I agree,” she mused, “It is silly. But that’s our opinion, kidlet. Now, do you want Harry in here?”

Eggsy nodded vigorously, and Elizabeth laughed.

When Harry, in human shape, bore Eggsy away to be pampered and fussed over, Elizabeth sat at her computer and dialed a video-call. Dee answered almost immediately.

 _“Hello, twinsy,”_ Dee chirruped, with her eternal sunny grin. _“How are the boys?”_

Elizabeth didn’t smile back, letting her worry and anger show to her cousin. “Tell me you punished the bastard,” she demanded, tone cold and clipped.

Dee laughed, a bright, careless laugh. _“Oh, yes! I hurt him back very badly. He can’t change back into human shape anymore, and I silenced him. He’s muter than stone now,”_ she explained cheerfully.

Elizabeth hesitated, but she had to ask. “What did you do to him?”

 _“I silenced his human-self. You know I can do that.”_ Her cheerful, relaxed air never changed; she spoke as if she were simply commenting on the weather. _“He doesn’t remember anything about being human. And his vocal cords don’t work anymore, but that’s just a side-effect. You can’t meddle with the Music and expect no consequences. How are the boys?”_

The Music. It was all about music with Dee. Elizabeth had decided that ‘Music’ meant something very different to her favorite cousin than it did to the rest of the world. It still made her uneasy, that Dee could talk of damaging someone’s brain permanently in such a relaxed manner. “They’re fine. Harry’s fussing, but that’s to be expected. When are you going on vacation?”

_“I’m planning on going away in just a few days here. There’s a lad in Ireland who knows a little bit too much about my side of the family. Why, what’s up?”_

“Arthur wants to talk to you.”

Dee froze.

Elizabeth nodded. “I told him you’d refuse,” she continued, “But he’s convinced that everyone fears him. Please, just this once.”

 _“No,”_ Dee said. Her voice was suddenly very flat, and her lively brown face had turned hard and pale as marble. _“I’m not coming near that man. His Music is all wrong.”_

“I know you hate him—“

_“HE’S ALL WRONG, LIZA.”_

Elizabeth shut her mouth, staring. Was Dee actually trembling? She had never heard her cousin use that tone, hard and furious and frightened. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. “Dee… Dee, twinsy, what did you find out? Dee!” when she didn’t respond, “Dee, please tell me.”

The younger woman wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, and shook her head. _“You’ll find out,”_ she whispered. _“Too soon, but you’ll find out. Fight it when it comes. Fight it when the storm comes.”_

~~~\0/~~~

Even with the order not to kill, Harry was sure Arthur would be angry for not disposing of the bastard who attacked a Kingsman candidate. Surely his pride as Alpha would trump his hatred of the lower classes.

But Harry never received a reprimand. Not that he cared, not with Eggsy to take most of his attention. Oh, he did his job, investigating and researching and finishing up paperwork, but he spent most of his time giving Eggsy belly-rubs, and playing tug-of-war with his least favorite ties and fetch with a disabled grenade. Even a disfiguring wound wasn’t enough to tame Eggsy’s silliness, and he made Harry smile with his mere presence.

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like feeling so… exposed. So… opened up. It was strange. But slowly, he grew used to it. He grew used to wrapping his arms around a small furry body and wishing desperately that it was human again. He grew used to smiling when he even looked at Eggsy. He even got used to giving Eggsy baths, though at first it made him self-conscious. (Kingsman agents were gentlemen, and gentlemen were _clean_.)

Finally, the morning came when, sitting on the bed with Eggsy in his lap, he checked the ear and said, “Well, my dear, it looks like it’s healed completely. You should be fine to—“

“FINALLY!”

Harry jumped and managed not to yelp as the corgi on his lap changed suddenly into a very relieved, very naked, Eggsy. “Do you know how _itchy_ it gets, bein’ stuck like that for so long?” Eggsy complained, seeming not to notice his nakedness. Well, why should he? He’d been pants-free for two and a half weeks, it stood to reason…

But Harry did not care about reason. He cared about finding something to look at that wasn’t Eggsy’s bare self. It was doing things to his emotions that he didn’t like. And seeing that mutilated ear made him angry.

Eggsy actually laughed. “Why are you blushing? Come ‘ere.” He put his arm around Harry’s neck and nuzzled his cheek, startling Harry so much that he had to turn and stare at a grinning Eggsy. “So now I go back to training, right?”

No, don’t, don’t leave Harry all alone, he didn’t want to be without him—“Yes. The others have already been back several days. I believe Merlin has being stalling until you’re ready to return.”

Eggsy began to frown. “Why?” he demanded. “I thought he hated me.”

“No, he hates Charlie. Merlin never has favorites; that’s why he’s in charge of training. But you’re part of his little defiances. He’s using you as a way to get back at Arthur.”

“Little defiances?” Eggsy wrinkled his nose. “Is that as gross as it sounds?”

Harry couldn’t help a smile, and leaned his head on Eggsy’s shoulder. “No. No, it isn’t. Tell me, now that you can; did you make friends with the goats?”

“Oh, yeah! Lavender, the nanny in charge of the puppies, she kind of took me in as her own, which was funny ‘cause I don’t know shit about puppies that ain’t JB, but she taught me some really great maneuvers for when I get in fights…”

Harry wrapped his arms around Eggsy’s waist and listened to him talk, and felt completely happy.


	7. Uh-oh spaghetti-o.

“Can’t you give me a hint?” Charlie pled, trying not to whine. “I don’t know how to prepare if I don’t know what’s next!”

Arthur frowned mightily at him. “I can’t hand you everything on a platter,” he snapped, “You haven’t even ruined that Eggsy boy yet.”

“It’s hard when there’s no chance to even get near him.”

“ _Make_ a chance!” Arthur snarled, losing his temper completely. “I have been _giving_ you chance after chance and you squander them like a squeamish child! I should have chosen your brother. _He_ would have gone through with it in days. And he wouldn’t have muddled a simple assassination.”

“She was just a child, and Marcus is a psychopath!” Charlie tried to protest—it came out a squeak. “That’s why you didn’t—“

“ _I did not give you permission to speak_.” His voice was a rumble, the snarl of a rabid attack-dog. For once, he looked like the Alpha he was named.

Charlie shut his mouth, trembling.

Arthur took a slow, deep breath, and let it out again. “Marcus is not a psychopath,” he replied calmly. “He just needs something to occupy him. It isn’t too late. I can bring him in and send you home.”

Charlie didn’t dare speak, but he pleaded with his eyes until Arthur tutted in disgust.

“One more chance,” he said, eyes glinting cold as a fish’s behind his glasses. “That is all I give you. You have one more test, one more chance; and if you fail, Lord help you, because I won’t.”

~\0/~

Merlin, Elizabeth, and Roxy were having a good long gossip over tea and biscuits in the nursing station about Percival and his fruitless attempts to court the sister of the target of Roxy’s training mission, when Eggsy walked in with JB at his heels.

“Eggsy, welcome back!” Elizabeth cried, grinning. “How was your holiday?”

“Fine, thanks,” Eggsy answered, looking very like he was struggling to hide a smile of his own. “Harry wants a prescription filled, but he’s too embarrassed to come himself. What’s it for, anyway?”

Merlin and Elizabeth shared a glance of dry amusement. “It’s an experimental drug,” Elizabeth began carelessly, as she took the slip of paper Eggsy held out and began to read Harry’s note. “It’s mainly for—oh.”

“’Oh’ what?” Roxy asked, though she was staring at Eggsy’s ear and the way the top seemed to have been cut clean off. It wasn’t enough to damage hearing; it was just enough to make Roxy want to cover her own ears, to make sure they were both still whole and healthy. Eggsy noticed her stare and raised his hand to scratch the side of his head, covering the damage. Roxy remembered herself and looked away, to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, who was begin to smile in a very sly fashion.

“’Oh’ _what_?” Eggsy echoed Roxy, frowning.

“Nothing,” Elizabeth replied to them both sweetly, rising to her feet. Merlin did as well, ever a gentleman; and there was also a sharp question in his eyes. Elizabeth handed him the note as she told Eggsy, “I don’t have this one made yet, but I can get right on it. Have a seat, drink some tea; my Aunt Sajni sent it all the way from Delhi. Tell Roxy about what you learned on the mission.”

Merlin snorted suddenly, and Eggsy and Roxy stared in alarm, for it sounded very like a stifled laugh. “Mix up a little extra of this, actually,” he told Elizabeth. “If I know Harry, he’s going to need it.”

“Excellent,” Elizabeth answered, looking pleased as a cat with cream on its whiskers. (It occurred to Roxy that she still had never gotten a straight answer as to what Elizabeth’s other form was.) “Sit, please, Eggsy. You too, ‘Lin. This won’t take very long.”

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy enjoyed telling Roxy and Merlin about his time at the farm, especially his friends among the goats and dogs. It was good to talk about happy things, wasn’t it?

“Lavender and Jade, the nanny-goat and the rescue, they were good. Lavender taught me some tricks for fighting off things that were bigger than me; I shoulda remembered more of them when that bastard hound attacked me. Jade taught me how to hide. We’d hide in the garden until the goat kids found us and play with them, or in the stables where we could nap in peace. Do you know how _noisy_ kennels are, with everyone barking all the time and trainers trying to talk over it?”

 “Why would they have stables _and_ a kennel?” Roxy asked, frowning a little. “Horses are damn expensive, and I can’t imagine that many dogs being any less costly.” Eggsy did what Harry had, and shrugged.

“Because they’re trainers,” Merlin explained for him. “Hunters, dog and horse, have to be trained somewhere. That family used to be very powerful; they trained all their own animals at their estates. The traditions continue, even as the line dwindles.”

It was hard to tell, but learning to read Harry had taught Eggsy some, and he saw that Merlin seemed just a little sad. So he quickly changed the subject, and complained about learning to herd.

“It was _hard_ ,” he insisted as Roxy raised an eyebrow and sipped her tea. “I was sure the cows were gonna squash me. Dee’s the one who kept pushing me, though.”

“Who’s Dee?” Roxy inquired curiously. “Elizabeth’s mentioned her a couple times, but she won’t say anything other than that she was keeping her informed about you.”

“Dee’s Liza’s cousin,” Eggsy explained, “And she’s a trainer at the kennel. She was in charge of me. Merlin, is it possible for non-shifters to understand when a ‘shifter talks to them?”

“No,” Merlin answered absently, scribbling on his clipboard and draining his tea. “But Dee isn’t a non-shifter.”

“So she’s one of us?”

“No.”

“But you just said—“

“No one knows what she is. She won’t say. Elizabeth and Maya claim not to know either. And that is all I shall say on the subject.”

“I’ll just ask Harry, then,” Eggsy retorted.

“He’ll say the same,” Merlin informed him coolly, and poured the last of the tea into his mug. “I’ll make another pot. Drink,” he ordered Eggsy sternly, and went to the sink for water. Eggsy drank automatically, and coughed at the strength of the tea.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Roxy commented cheerfully. “Better than anything papa every brought back. So Dee could understand when you spoke to her?”

Eggsy needed a minute, but when he could speak, he replied, “I didn’t try. Harry did, though, and she answered like she understood. What the fuck is this stuff, anyway?”

“It’s tea,” Roxy told him helpfully.

Eggsy scowled at her. She simply smiled seraphically.

This, though, led to a discourse on why the dogs should not have been allowed to taste herbal tea at the kennel. Eggsy hadn’t known dogs could actually die from caffeine; he thought of JB, sleeping on his foot, and was glad he’d never let the pug have any of his food or drink. And now that he thought of it, none of the dogs had been allowed more than a single taste, and most of them had decided it was disgusting after the first drop.

Had they been encouraged to think that? Had Dee influenced them with her little whistles? Impossible to tell, and he could never ask.

They discussed his fight with the hound, and Merlin gave him further information: that the hound’s human name was Ferdinand and that he’d been removed, perhaps even disgraced; that he was a constant competitor with Kingsman; and that while he was not missed by many, he was definitely still a threat. Loose cannons were the most dangerous. Eggsy tucked this information away in the back of his head for further consideration and discussion.

“Why’d they take your ear?” Roxy asked finally.

“Because the vet was lazy and badly trained,” Eggsy replied, touching the remainder gingerly. It still hurt. “Heard plenty of that while I was still healing up at the kennel. What was your mission like?”

“Searching for counter-spies, like you. A little boring.” Roxy picked up a biscuit and broke it in half, offering one piece to Eggsy. He accepted it gravely. “There was some excitement when Percival kissed our target’s sister, and she slapped him so hard he fell down, but that was all.”

“What! Fuck that! Tell me everything!”

Eggsy bombarded Roxy with questions, and she answered quite happily. It wasn’t boring at all; it was hilarious, and Eggsy sincerely wished he’d been there to see the situation firsthand. It sounded like so much fun.

“We were at some party, brother and sister,” Roxy summarized to get the whole thing straight, breaking her biscuit into small pieces and eating them delicately. “Our target was there with _his_ sister. So naturally we were forced to do everything together. At first I thought Percy was just flirting with her to get closer, maybe try for a honeytrap, but then he actually let himself get drunk and kissed her.” Roxy shook her head, exasperated. “Getting drunk is no excuse for harassment and molestation.”

Eggsy nodded, because he’d taken a huge gulp of tea and had no voice for speaking for a second. When he had it again, he asked, “Where was the party?”

“France,” Roxy answered, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “That’s all I can say. But you can check their national gossip rags if you want more information on how this affected the life of a few certain musicians.”

He’d nearly gotten used to the tea when Elizabeth returned with a little plastic bottle full of pills. “Here you are,” she said cheerfully, handing Eggsy the bottle. “Tell him he has to take them regularly for a week before they’ll kick in properly, but after that, have at it.”

“I will,” Eggsy promised, tucking the bottle in his pocket. “So is Dee a shifter or not?”

Elizabeth froze. Her easy smile turned hard and brittle. “Why do you ask?” she inquired quietly.

“Just wondering,” Eggsy answered, already regretting the question.

“We don’t talk about it. It’s… a family thing.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Elizabeth nodded, sat, and smiled again, a warm, happy smile. “Well, now that we’re all here, let’s gossip about our betters some more!”

Everyone jumped on the suggestion, and there followed a lively session of delicious airing of dirty laundry. Eggsy had never actually been a part of this kind of thing, and it made him very happy to be included in something so harmless as laughing at Merlin and Elizabeth’s stories of the other agents, especially the humiliating exploits of the man now called Arthur. Eggsy and Roxy made Elizabeth laugh with tales of the candidates, and Merlin smirked to hear it all from their point of view.

It was good. The only thing that would have made it perfect was Harry smiling beside him and more of this punch-in-the-gut tea.

~\0/~

Harry was nervous.

He’d asked for a medicine that he hadn’t used since he was much younger, the first time he’d bonded. He hadn’t needed it then, and he wasn’t sure he’d need it now; but it was best to be safe. The medicine, and Elizabeth’s reaction to being asked for it, was only part of the nervousness, though. The other part was trying to let Eggsy know that he was ready for… without having to explicitly say it.

Funny, how he could seduce a target with ease, but telling his bondmate he was in heat was so near to impossible. All those suppressants had fucked up his cycle; he wasn’t sure how long this unpredictability would last, but while it did, he would worry about it.

But first—he had to decide how to deal with Arthur in this state.

He knew Arthur would sense it. He also knew that he’d probably have a fight on his hands, trying to keep Arthur from deciding to pressure him into ‘breeding’ with one of the alphas, probably Merlin. If worst came to worst, there was always the assassination plan.

However, if Harry ‘bred’ with Eggsy first…

Harry was planning how to convince Eggsy to do it, that night, as soon as possible if not immediately, when the driver said, “We’ve arrived, sir.”

“Thank you,” he answered, still pondering.

“Er… you’re welcome, sir.”

Harry was already out of the taxi, walking up the steps to the door.

There was no one behind the counter. Harry frowned slightly, but kept walking. The scent of alpha was thick on the air, especially a bitter smell that he remembered vaguely as coming from the candidates. Perhaps that was that dickhead Eggsy had complained of, what was his name? Charles? Usually the scent of alphas would do things to his brain chemistry; not today. He simply found them repulsive. He wrinkled his nose and walked up the stairs to the club.

Arthur was not alone in the dining room. That Charles boy was standing by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, looking sullen. He frowned quizzically at Harry, and then his nose twitched. Harry didn’t even look at him a second time. Ignore the child and focus on the threat.

“Arthur,” he greeted calmly, striding up the table to his regular seat.

“Galahad,” Arthur replied, also beginning to frown. Harry sat, pretending to take no notice, and slid his folder full of findings across the table to Arthur. “How are you today?”

This was entirely out of character for Arthur. Harry didn’t even blink. “As well as ever. This your choice?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. This is Charlie Hesketh. Charlie, this is our current Galahad.”

Harry finally looked at the boy. He’d seen him when he’d done that class for Bors, and as before, he noted the habitual smugness, the well-bred snootiness. “How do you do,” he said, absolutely neutral, and quite as if they had never met.

“How do you do,” Charlie replied, his tone and expression showing his slight confusion. Harry turned away again.

“Has he sworn?” he asked Arthur.

“No, but it is safe to speak in front of him.” Arthur’s frown was deepening. He seemed perplexed by something.

“Mm. May I ask why you both are staring so insolently?”

Charlie started, and looked down at the floor, his face turning quite red. Arthur blinked, and his frown lifted as instead he dropped a mask of cool calm over his features. “Not insolence,” he answered, “Merely confusion.”

“I have run out of drugs,” Harry replied bluntly. “Thankfully, I have something else that works just as well.”

Arthur’s eyebrows snapped together again, and he looked downright fierce for a moment. But he couldn’t do anything. Harry saw it with a clarity so sudden he almost laughed. _Arthur couldn’t do anything to him_.

He did not laugh. His expression didn’t even twitch. But Arthur must have noticed something, because his scowl deepened. “If that ‘something else’ is what I think it is…”

“It might be. Then again, it might not. Shall we discuss the tasks you set for me, or will you insist on dwelling on my personal life like the gossipmonger you are?”

How did _that_ slip out? Too late, Arthur was obviously truly angry now, but all Harry could think of to do was give the tiniest of smirks. So he did.

Arthur slapped his hand down on the folder beside him, making Charlie jump. “I will read this,” he stated flatly. “You may go.”

Harry stood, gave a mocking little bow, and left, struggling to hide a grin. And now, to go and see his Eggsy.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy was out of shape. He kept up with Roxy and Charlie, but only just; and he was behind on everything on paper except reading, and that only because Harry had read to him while he was “recuperating”. He knew his ear had been safe for at least a week before Harry had proclaimed him ready, but that was Harry for you.

At the end of his first day back, Merlin had them take a run around the yard, while he stood on the balcony and watched them coolly. Running, Eggsy could do; herding was all about running, after all, and he had to fight the urge to herd Charlie and Roxy. Instead he kept a steady pace, and eventually noticed that all three of them had settled into speeds that kept them all abreast; Charlie had to slow down because of his height, and Roxy’s shorter legs pumped faster and harder than the boys’, but they all three ran together. Eggsy grinned.

And then he noticed there was a second person on the balcony, and he just _knew_ who it was.

He put on a burst of speed, and when he’d made a far enough lead, he turned a cartwheel. Then another. Then he did some back-handsprings, and then he ran some more. He couldn’t help showing off; couldn’t help casting glances over his shoulder to make sure that suited figure was still standing there, watching. He couldn’t help grinning when the other two caught up and Charlie snapped, “What was _that_ about, you spaz?”

“You look at the balcony?” Roxy panted.

Charlie looked, and scowled. Eggsy grinned wider, too out of breath to laugh, and turned another cartwheel.

When Merlin gave the ear-splitting whistle that meant it was time to stop, Eggsy kept running to the stairs and hopped up them two at a time, before slamming into Harry and hugging him hard. A cloud of some sweet scent that sent a shiver all through him swallowed him, as Harry’s arms wrapped around him almost automatically.

“I have a question,” Harry said frankly, “That I would rather ask privately.”

“Alright. Merlin?”

“You’re dismissed,” Merlin told Eggsy, looking suspiciously like he was hiding a smirk. “Give him back in a few hours, Galahad.”

Harry gave Merlin an irritated glance, but wrapped one arm tightly around Eggsy’s shoulders, let the other fall back to his side, and led Eggsy back inside. Eggsy kept his own arm just as firmly wrapped around Harry’s waist. God it felt good to touch him again.

Once they had reached the lessons-room, Harry let go to quietly close and lock the door. Eggsy hopped up on the edge of the desk, kicking his feet a little and grinning when Harry turned back to him. “Well?” he prompted, when Harry didn’t say anything. “What’d you wanna ask me?”

Harry took a breath, let it out, walked over, and kissed Eggsy, lightly. Eggsy grabbed his lapel and kissed _him_ , a little more firmly. Eggsy really liked Harry’s scent today. He’d liked it yesterday, too, but today was even better. It was that same dizzying scent he’d smelled so many months ago, when he’d thought Harry was just sick. Now he was sure it was very different from that.

“Arthur wants me to breed with one of the other alphas,” Harry got out quickly, when the kiss broke.

The shivers of happiness froze. Eggsy’s hands clenched on Harry’s lapel. “No.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Harry hesitated, looking… uncertain? No, Harry was never uncertain. What was wrong? Please, Harry, tell Eggsy what’s wrong so he can kill the bad thing. “There is… a very… _concrete_ way of putting him off, though.”

Eggsy stared at Harry blankly.

With a sigh, Harry put his hand on Eggsy’s thigh, quite high up.

Eggsy inhaled sharply, and got a flood of information from the scent filling his nose. Oh. _Ohhh_. Okay. That made sense. Yes, he wanted to do that. But they could hardly do it here of all places.

“Where?” he demanded.

“Come with me.”

Eggsy grabbed Harry’s hand, and was taken on a whirlwind run through the halls of the manor, up and down and ‘round and ‘round, a breathless sprint that, combined with the run he’d just had, made him more than ready to just fall over and do it in the hall as long as they didn’t have to move any farther.

Their urgent search for a safe room was halted when they turned a corner and nearly ran into Bors.

“Hey, watch where—oh,” he said.

Harry’s face smoothed, until he was blank once more. It was harder for Eggsy to control himself, but he managed.

“Good afternoon, Bors,” Harry said, and began to sidle past, tugging Eggsy by the hand—but he stopped when Bors held out a thick file full of paper. Slowly, he took it.

“Arthur said to return this to you,” he explained. “I was just coming to…” He blinked, as if trying to clear his vision, and continued with a genial tone, “To find you. I was sure you’d be with Eggsy, so I… um…”

If Eggsy had been in dog form, his hackles would’ve risen. It occurred to him that Harry was a very desirable mate, bound or not. He was fit, he was intelligent, he was capricious, he was so, so beautiful… He realized he was growling very faintly, and that Harry had slid backwards, away from Bors and closer to Eggsy, and was holding Eggsy’s hand very tightly.

Bors blinked again, shook his head, and said with false cheer, “Well, I won’t keep you w-waiting any longer. If you’ll excuse me.” And he turned and walked away, very quickly.

Eggsy lunged and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. “He wanted you,” he muttered into the back of Harry’s shoulder.

“They all act like they do,” Harry murmured back, sounding annoyed. “That’s why Arthur wants me to be the Kingsman bitch.”

“No. _No_. My bitch, _mine_.” It was getting hard to breathe, and the dizziness was back with a vengeance.

“Yours.” Harry turned, grabbed Eggsy’s face, kissed him fiercely, then shoved the file in his jacket and took Eggsy’s hands again.

They ran, but not as fast, because Eggsy was tired and still a little angry; but they did run, until they came to a corridor of doors with brass nameplates on them. Harry led the way to a door with the name _Galahad_ in scrolling script on the plate, shoved open the door, towed Eggsy inside, and slammed the portal shut again.

Eggsy went to unzip his uniform, and Harry put his hand over Eggsy’s, stepping so close the dizziness almost made Eggsy fall over. “No,” Harry murmured, “Slower than that. Please.”

He just nodded, too breathless to speak.

‘Slower’ to Harry meant ‘glacial’ to Eggsy. The kiss was alright (no, the kiss was _glorious_ , so sweet and gentle and warm), as was the being pushed up against the wall (pressure, heat, the sensation of an erection pressing against his thigh), but it was so _slow_. Harry broke away and began to give Eggsy a hickey on his neck, and Eggsy couldn’t help whimpering. Too slow—too slow—

Then he saw the bed on the other side of the room.

With a pang of sadness for losing such a delicious sensation, Eggsy shoved off from the wall and pushed Harry straight to and on to the bed, practically flinging him down, and crawling right up on top of him, plucking the glasses from Harry’s face and tossing them across the room. Harry seemed startled for a moment, and then his face practically lit up, and he grabbed Eggsy’s ears and yanked him down for another kiss.

~\0/~

It had not been the best in the world, but it had been close.

They rested, but this cold, unused place held no comfort and no welcome that they had not brought with themselves. They helped each other dress, slowly, in silence, with many kisses and small trailing touches, because that was the only way they remembered how at that moment. Harry didn’t want to let Eggsy go, but he had to; and he knew—he was sure—Eggsy felt the same. Twice hadn’t been anywhere _near_ enough, but it would do for now. Tonight, though—tonight, he wouldn’t let Eggsy sleep a wink.

They walked in silence to the stairs that would take them all the way down to the barracks. It was hidden behind a display of armor, and there were no cameras or mics; so there was no one to catch Eggsy swinging their clasped hands slightly and humming happy tunes. There was no one to see Harry smiling, either.

He’d completely forgotten about the next test until Merlin caught them lingering in the corridor outside the barracks, kissing and not trying very hard to hide it. Merlin coughed right in the middle of an especially lovely snog, and Harry and Eggsy jumped apart, whirling to face him.

“If you’re quite finished, I need to speak with all the candidates together,” Merlin announced dryly.

Eggsy sighed, slapped Harry’s ass lightly, and trudged to the barracks. Harry tried not to stare after him, but it was hard; that touch had awakened the feelings he’d barely succeeded in suppressing, and now he wanted to run after him and grab him—but that was not allowed.

Merlin cleared his throat. Harry immediately turned back to him, face carefully blank. “Yes?” Harry said.

“He might not pass this one,” Merlin pointed out in a low voice, watching Harry sharply. “True colors and all that.”

Something very cold enfolded the hot impatience in Harry’s chest. “He will,” he answered calmly. “Excuse me.” And he walked past Merlin and away, pretending he hadn’t seen the quickly-hidden smirk on the other’s face.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy tried not to frown so much, but he really didn’t want to do this mission.

It didn’t seem right. They were to seduce this young woman and then… what? Take her to some hotel and have sex? He couldn’t do that. Not after Harry. And what if she didn’t want to? What if she was impossible to seduce? Or was she informed that there would be a few idiots out looking to get in her pants? Too many questions, and he wasn’t sure how to get answers.

So instead he tried to enjoy the party, as he scouted for the target. He’d lost Roxy and Charlie fairly early, but he could find them again by their scents. Strange, how very familiar their smells were now. He accepted a glass of champagne from someone with a plateful of them, being careful not to upset the tray. He’d already received dirty looks from other partygoers; probably because he was not dressed sleek and sophisticated and boring. There were only so many ways to wear a suit before it got tiresome.

Of course, sometimes, taking the suit off was fun.

Eggsy shook himself free of such lovely contemplations and focused on circulating casually, sauntering through the crowd as if he hadn’t a care in the world as he checked each white, blonde-haired face that caught his eye. Huh. What smell was that? The one that smelled like piss and bad ale?

He sniffed his champagne and pulled a face. It definitely smelled off. But maybe this was just what the fanciest wines tasted like? He took a tiny sip—

—and spat it right back out into the glass. Drugged. That was why it smelled off. And it wasn’t any of the drugs they’d been building tolerances for, either; it was something brand new, something that smelled like—like—his mind showed him images, but he couldn’t quite process them. Damn it! If only he could ‘shift and give it another sniff…

He had to warn Roxy. And Charlie too, he supposed. He set the full glass down on a handy table covered with empty glasses, changed his mind—what if someone else tried to drink it?—and brought it along as he sought out his fellow candidates. He did not saunter this time.

There, chatting up the target. She was much prettier in real life than in a photo, but she wasn’t Harry. And Eggsy was too alert _not_ to notice how her eyes flicked between Roxy and Charlie, how she kept her bag pressed to her stomach and did not touch her drink. She didn’t like them being so close. Eggsy couldn’t blame her.

“Does this champagne taste a little funny to you?” he interrupted the trio, pointing to his glass, smiling at the target, but giving Roxy what he hoped was a discreetly significant glance. She frowned slightly, glanced at her own champagne, and slowly put it down.

“It’s an acquired taste, mate,” Charlie answered over his shoulder.

“I think it’s just cheap,” Roxy announced, curling her hand in her lap.

The target picked up her drink. “Get one of these, they’re delicious,” she suggested, and pretended to take a sip. She didn’t trust them. Well, Eggsy wouldn’t trust their three either. So—

“If you’re interested in seduction techniques, this guy’s _textbook_ ,” Charlie told their target with a slightly superior tone, face smug. Eggsy decided that he didn’t give a fuck if Charlie was drugged and carried off. “What he just did? That’s an opinion opener. Got you talking with a neutral question, got all of us involved, so that _you_ craved individual attention.”

“No, I’m just saying the champagne tastes rank,” Eggsy corrected angrily, resisting the urge to throw his glass in Charlie’s face. That wouldn’t help anyone. And it would be suspicious. Wouldn’t it?

“Is it alright that we sit with you?” Roxy suddenly asked the target. “Charlie here is a creep and a half, but we can control him pretty easily.”

“I am not a creep!” Charlie protested self-righteously, sitting bolt upright and glaring at her.

Roxy raised an eyebrow, turned to Eggsy, and said, “Gary, can you fetch me a whiskey on the rocks? Get one for yourself, too.”

Eggsy scowled, but started to walk away—

“That’s what waiters are for,” Charlie put in quickly, and gestured for Eggsy to sit before standing himself and scanning the crowd. Eggsy wanted to refuse, but Roxy was giving him a warning look, so he sat and leaned forward, toying with his glass. The target, meanwhile, was looking between the three of them with the tiniest of smiles.

Charlie made an impatient noise. “I’ll get you your drinks,” he offered shortly, then smiled charmingly at the target. “Would you like anything?”

“No, I’m alright,” she answered smoothly, and took the smallest sip of her drink.

Charlie vanished into the crowd.

Roxy heaved a sigh. “There, that’s got rid of him for a bit,” she muttered. Then she smiled too, a quick, small smile, not smarmy like Charlie’s. “My name’s Roxanne, this is Gary. Sorry to ambush you like that. Charlie can be… difficult.”

“Thank you, actually,” the target sighed. “I’m waiting for my friends to finish flirting so we can go home, and I’m no good at it. Is he always like that with you?” she asked Eggsy.

He blinked. “Always like what?” he replied blankly.

The target glanced at Roxy, who shrugged, looking like she was repressing a grin. “Isn’t he sweet,” she said, with a slight cooing tone, as of one talking about a child. Eggsy bristled, still confused and now becoming angry. “Chauffeurs these days, too well-trained to register a flirtation.”

“No, he’s just being a dick,” Eggsy snapped, then remembered, and tried a smile of his own. “Sorry.”

The target smiled back, just a little sly. “It’s alright. Are you really the chauffeur?”

“You could say that.”

“Getaway driver?”

Eggsy put his finger to his lips, a signal to hush, and the target actually giggled. Eggsy grinned. Well… this was alright. It didn’t feel too invasive. And Harry would understand.

Charlie returned carrying two glasses, one of Roxy’s favorite whiskey, one of some extremely expensive vodka. Eggsy knew it was expensive because he knew Charlie’s taste; if it wasn’t off the top shelf, it wasn’t good enough. It made him uneasy.

And as he stood, setting down the champagne to accept the whiskey and pass it to Roxy, and taking the vodka from Charlie, he saw the slightest catch of Charlie’s breath, felt the slightest touch on his fingers as he took the glass; he immediately stepped away a little, and took much too large a gulp of his drink. Charlie frowned, puzzled and—no, that couldn’t possibly be hurt, that was too frightening. But he frowned, and sat in his spot, and both Roxy and the target stared between the boys.

A man came and told the target there was a phone call for her; Eggsy couldn’t quite catch her name, and frowned, because the man was literally right next to him. Was something wrong with his half-ear? Possibly.

He felt a sharp sting in his side, and a rush of wooziness. Someone had just stuck him with the same drug that was in the champagne. He staggered two steps, then sat down hastily, muttering, “Budge up, Rox,” as his head began to spin. He never did have a head for roofies.

“You alright?” Roxy asked. Eggsy shook his head, and, while he felt quite woozy, he was not far enough gone to not notice that Charlie had immediately begun to scoot closer along the bench—and the man was still there, smiling and smiling with his ratlike teeth. He didn’t catch what the man said this time either, because he was trying to set his glass down without spilling it. When he looked up, Roxy and Charlie had begun to slump, knocked out cold. And he could feel the edges of unconsciousness nibbling at him…

The man held up a bottle of champagne in one hand and a small hypodermic needle in the other.

“You bastard!” Eggsy managed to gasp, before his head fell back and he passed out.

~\0/~

When he woke, his whole body ached.

His side where he’d been stuck ached. His head was a solid cannonball of pain. His hands and feet had fallen asleep, and his arms and legs were tingling most unpleasantly. Everything else had the dull, unhappy pain of being thrown about like a bag of luggage. It was not a happy awakening.

He turned his head, and saw the reason his hands were numb and his arms were hurting. His wrists were tied, very tightly, to a rail.

Oh no.

He raised his head. His legs were tied too. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This—a nightmare come to life. How many times had Dean threatened to leave him on the rails the next time Eggsy vexed him? How many times had others said that to him, to make him shut up and behave while they tried to woo his mum? Too many, far too many, as old fear woke and banished the fogs of drugs and pain.

Gravel crunched. His head whipped the other way, and he stared, wide-eyed, as the man from the club strode steadily towards him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Eggsy demanded; his eyes fell on the knife in the man’s hand and he decided not to swear too much. “Where am I?”

The man waited until he was right in front of Eggsy, at a safe distance from the track, and held up the little blade. “This knife can save your life,” he said with a grin.

Eggsy stared at him blankly, and then he felt a thrum in the rails, and heard a sound that was horribly similar to…

A train was coming.

He acted on instinct. He could not escape the ropes, that much was clear, and the man would not let him go without something, probably information; so Eggsy ‘shifted, shedding clothes and ropes, scrambled to his paws, and jumped over the rail as perfectly as he’d ever jumped over a hurdle or through a ring, and began to run in the direction the man had come from.

“Eggsy, don’t--!”

The train surged passed. He flattened himself against the ground against the tunnel wall, covering his face with his paws. The roar of the train rang in his ears, a fire alarm the size of a cathedral bell—and then it was over, the train was gone, and he was alone.

No, not alone. A familiar soft chuckle was echoing behind him. He scrambled to his paws, whipped around, and there was Harry, standing by a hole in the ground right where Eggsy had been lying. As he watched, astonished, the ground rose again, and the rails rejoined.

“Congratulations, and bloody well done,” Harry said, and stooped to begin collecting Eggsy’s shed clothing. It hadn’t even been mussed by the wind of the train’s passage.

Eggsy did not have the energy to be angry, or even to be relieved. He just felt dull and achy. He forced himself into a trot, and when Harry laid out his pants, he squirmed into them and ‘shifted back, and immediately put his hand to the injection site. It was bleeding, a very little.

“How’d the others do?” Eggsy asked dully.

“Roxy passed with flying colors.” Harry helped him shrug on his shirt, frowning at the bruise from the needle. “Charlie’s up next. Want to watch?”

Eggsy thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, alright.”


	8. Blood

Merlin frowned concernedly. “Another? So soon?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

“The boy cheated,” Arthur answered frankly. “I’ll have no cheaters at my table.”

“It was a loophole, not a cheat,” Percival pointed out. “It’s even written down that that is a permissible action.”

Arthur glared quellingly, but Percival simply looked back, refusing to take back his “insubordinate” comments. “Those writings are biased,” Arthur retorted, tone clipped.

“And you aren’t?” Harry murmured.

“That’s enough!” Arthur snapped, spreading his glare to include Merlin and Harry as well as Percival (who was smirking faintly). “The boy will have another test. Roxanne will be his backup. Now get out of my sight.”

None of the three ranged before him even twitched, simply stared at him calmly. Then Harry said, quite innocently, “I will be there too. He is my bondmate after all.”

Percival’s head whipped around. Merlin’s mouth twitched. Arthur, already pale as unrisen dough, paled further. “Bondmate?” he repeated softly.

“Yes. I’ll be there to make sure _you_ don’t cheat. Gentlemen.” He nodded to Percival and Merlin, and quit the room.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy was luxuriating in memories and silk sheets.

What bliss! To finally stay in bed after five o’clock! To have to stretch to fill a mattress with his presence! To lie under a thick, warm quilt and feel the softness of the silk against his bare skin! The only thing that soured the happiness was the fact that Harry wasn’t there to share it. But Eggsy had memories to keep him as warm as a physical presence would have.

The beginning half of the first of the twenty-four hours had been spent stuffing his face with food Harry had prepared ahead of time, and only needed to warm up. It had been a delicious midnight meal. The next hour had been taking a long, blissfully hot shower—with no company, sadly. But that had been made up for by the extra half and the third through fifth hours. And now it was ten o’clock, the tenth hour—and he was alone.

“Only fourteen more hours,” he muttered to himself. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

But JB was sitting by the door, whining, obviously needing to be let out; and his legs were twitching with the need for a morning run. So he got up, showered again, borrowed a pair of pants and what he _thought_ were sweats, pulled on his shirt from last night, and stepped outside the house, looking around curiously.

It was quite a nice neighborhood, as he’d noted last night. JB had found a shrub to do his business behind. Eggsy was sure that Harry had let him out earlier to poo, but he’d been half asleep when he noticed JB trotting through the bedroom door to curl up on the floor beside the bed. Well, Eggsy had a key, he was new here, the sun was bright, and his energy was through the roof. Time to explore.

First he circled the block, looking around, automatically noting ideal sniping positions and ambush points. He smiled when he met anyone’s eyes, the easy, relaxed smile of someone who belonged. JB, trotting at his heels, didn’t even think of running off. What a good dog. Eggsy bent down and gave JB a quick scratch and murmured praise.

They went in a steady spiral, exploring the neighborhood. It took only half and a fifth of the tenth hour to meander their way around and back in again, taking their time. All in all, a good place. Eggsy liked it.

When they returned to Harry’s house, there was a whiff of scent just outside the door that made Eggsy grin. So Harry was home again? Good! That meant they could spend the rest of the tenth hour just being together. Then Eggsy had plans for the rest of their time together; plans involving going to meet with mum, to reassure her that Eggsy was alright, that everything was going to get better soon. Everything was going to be fine.

He was so close. So close.

He’d entered the house without remembering turning the key. He made sure to be very careful locking up again, and when he turned around he caught another drift of that intoxicating smell. Yes, Harry was home alright. Eggsy’s breath was coming short. Maybe they’d have to put off meeting mum until evening.

“Harry? That you?” Eggsy called.

“Here,” Harry’s voice replied from the stairs. Now Eggsy could hear his footsteps on the risers, firm but soft enough to be nearly inaudible; Eggsy’s ears were sharper than they were when he first made his decision, and he strained them to catch even the smallest noise. Harry rounded the corner and stopped where he stood, hand on the bannister, his face utterly calm. Eggsy knew he wasn’t. Something was wrong. Two things. Eggsy began to frown.

“How about you get dressed,” Harry suggested, still serene, “And I’ll take you to meet the tailors.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first,” Eggsy demanded bluntly.

“Later,” Harry replied.

No amount of arguing would make him say. So Eggsy walked over, JB trailing after, and just as he was passing Harry, his arm shot out and wrapped around the older man’s waist, dragging him along with Eggsy.

“Help me find all my stuff,” he ordered, as he stepped up to the first riser of the stairs. “It’s all hidden under yours.”

“I took the liberty of washing them. They’re on the bed.” But Harry came with him anyway, pressed close to his side. Eggsy resisted the urge to make a joke about beds and what should be on them.

Harry ‘helped’ him get dressed (which turned a one-minute task into thirty minutes), and then they went out, Eggsy in his clubbing gear, Harry in his grey suit that looked so good on him. Eggsy had to keep stopping himself from licking his lips every time he looked at Harry.

JB, they left behind, even though it made the pug sulk. He was always getting left behind when his human went on interesting adventures. It wasn’t fair. He knew his human liked to be alone with the Man, but surely they could at least take JB when they went for walkies. Interesting things _always_ happened on walkies.

Harry and Eggsy talked while they walked. The sun was still bright, but as their conversation continued, Eggsy began to feel like it was dimming, slowly but surely.

“So you can’t tell me what this mission is,” he concluded, as the turned the corner down Savile Row.

“No,” Harry confirmed.

“But it’ll definitely happen.”

“Yes.”

“And Arthur will try to make it impossible for me.”

“Most certainly.”

Eggsy muttered several curses under his breath. Harry shot him a disapproving look. “What, now I gotta start learning to talk proper?” Eggsy demanded, feeling distinctly irritated. “Like in My Fair Lady?”

“Not at all. As Hemingway said, ‘There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man. True nobility is being superior to your former self.’”

Eggsy went quiet, thinking of that, and began to smile.

There was a tailor on duty, measuring fabric. Harry nodded in greeting, letting his hand fall on a pile of fabric almost affectionately. “Every gentleman needs a good suit, of course,” he told Eggsy casually, as if they had not been on the verge of an argument just moments before. “A bespoke suit, never off the peg. And of course all Kingsman suits are always bulletproof.”

Eggsy had a hard time keeping his jaw from dropping.

“Now, let’s get you measured,” Harry said lightly, fighting a smile, “And whether you get the job or not, you’ll have a lasting and useful memento of your time with Kingsman.”

With Kingsman. Not with Harry. Because Eggsy would always have Harry, hopefully.

Just as Harry was reaching for the handle of the door they’d entered the first night, when Eggsy had decided, the tailor spoke up. “Sorry, sir, a gentleman is finishing his fitting. Fitting room two is available.”

“One does not use fitting room two when one is popping one’s cherry,” Harry said dryly. Eggsy could not suppress a grin. It sounded so silly coming from Harry’s mouth. “Perhaps I’ll show you fitting room three while we wait.”

Eggsy shrugged and followed Harry readily. He didn’t know what he meant by “popping his cherry”, but he was sure it was sexual, and he was always down for that. Harry was, after all, still in heat, and he’d been taking his medicine faithfully since he’d received it.

But that wasn’t it at all. When they stepped into the fitting room and Harry closed the door behind them, Eggsy felt his heart rate increase; but Harry didn’t say or do anything, just stood behind him, looking at him in the mirror. The mirror.

“We goin’ up or down?” Eggsy asked.

“Neither,” Harry answered.

Eggsy felt very silly all of a sudden. “This it?”

“Of course not. Pull the hook on your left.”

Eggsy raised his hand uncertainly and pulled the hook.

He should have known there were more surprises than just an elevator.

“Oh, yes. Very, _very_ nice.”

It was a treasure trove, a room full of toys that Eggsy longed to play with on the ranges and in the field. They were an eclectic mix, ranging from tech to accessories, umbrellas to firearms, and he immediately loved them all.

“You’ll need a pair of shoes to go with your suit,” Harry told him, breaking through the childish greed. “An oxford is any formal shoe with open lacing. This decoration is called broguing.”

Eggsy’s hand automatically reached to touch the medal, hidden under his shirt. “Oxfords, not brogues,” he murmured.

“Words to live by, Eggsy,” Harry told him, taking down a pair—and saw Eggsy snatch his hand away from his chest. Harry paused and eyed him the same way he always did when he noticed the medal around Eggsy’s neck. Eggsy could never figure it out, and never really wanted to.

Harry leaned over and kissed Eggsy’s cheek lightly. “Try a pair,” he offered, holding out the shoes.

Eggsy took them and sat on the provided bench with a thump, yanking off his Adidas. The oxfords slid on easily, laced comfortably, and felt quite nice. At least they didn’t pinch, or have holes in them. They were better than most shoes he had had.

“These, you’re familiar with,” Harry was saying, gesturing to the umbrellas. “And this is our standard issue pistol. As you can see it also fires shotgun shells, for use in messy, close range situations. How do they feel?”

Eggsy blinked at the change of subject. “Yeah, good,” he replied.

“Try your best impersonation of a German aristocrat’s formal greeting.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes, but stood, put his shoulders back, and clicked his heels. With a faint _shink_ , a blade slid out of the sole.

“ _That_ is sick,” he conceded, feeling himself begin to grin.

“In the old days they had a phone in the heel as well,” Harry murmured, with a reminiscing smile.

“How do I get it back in?” Eggsy asked.

“Well it’s coated in one of the fastest-acting neurotoxins known to man,” Eggsy looked up sharply, and a little warily, “So _very_ carefully.”

Eggsy looked around, and decided the wall was good enough. Gingerly, he braced the point of the blade against the wall and pushed. The metal slid back into the sole with a quiet _snick_.

“I have had a lot of fun with these,” Harry remarked, taking a pen from the wall, as Eggsy sat to (carefully) change his shoes again. “A poison, harmless when ingested, but at a time convenient to you can be remotely activated. Primed,” he flipped the clip. “Lethal.” He flipped it back again.

“An’ what do these do?” Eggsy asked, rising again and leaning against the wall, taking down a golden lighter. “Electrocute you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry scoffed. “It’s a hand-grenade.”

“Shut up!”

“If you want to electrocute someone you’ll need a signet ring,” Harry continued, as Eggsy marveled at the tiny explosive in his hand. “A gentleman traditionally wears his signet on his left hand, but a Kingsman wears it on whichever hand is dominant. Touch the contact behind the ring and it delivers 50,000 volts.”

Eggsy carefully put back the lighter/grenade and turned, spotting a wall of tablets and phones. “An’ what about them?” he asked. When Harry turned his back, Eggsy’s hand snuck up the wall to grip the lighter again. “What makes them so special?”

“Nothing. That technology has caught up with the spy world. Put it back, Eggsy.”

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed, taking a brief half-second to memorize what each item on the wall looked like. Hey, you never knew.

The moment they walked out into the shop again, the tailor on duty looked up and said, “Ah, perfect timing. The gentleman has just finished.”

And as he said that, the door of fitting room one opened, and Richmond Valentine himself walked out.

Eggsy would have felt great awe—Valentine was more brilliant than all current technology giants combined—if not for the way Harry went suddenly very still and quiet. Nothing that made his Harry do that was good.

Valentine grinned, a charming smile, and greeted Harry by name. “Mr. Duvere! What a coincidence!” he said cheerfully. “You are _totally_ the reason I am here! When you left my house, I was _thirstin’_ for that dope-ass smoking-jacket you had on!” He approached by three steps and Eggsy’s metaphorical hackles rose. Keep away from his Harry. Keep _away_. “And since I’m goin’ to Royal Ascot and apparently need one of these penguin suits, here I am.” He grinned again, then tilted his head, looking puzzled. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Eggsy shifted slightly, his instincts almost getting the better of him, but he froze again as Valentine’s gaze suddenly flicked to him—as did the gaze of the sharp-eyed woman leaning in the doorway of fitting room one. A shapeshifter. He could smell it on her, a faint miasma of danger. Eggsy decided she was the greater threat. Valentine made him cautious; the woman made him vaguely afraid.

“What’s up, man! Richmond Valentine.” Valentine held out his hand; Eggsy shook it, but did not offer his own name. He was Harry’s shadow, unimportant, a lower class citizen. Pay no attention to him.

“This is my new valet,” Harry said for him, “I was just introducing him to my tailor.”

“Another coincidence! So was I,” Valentine claimed, as the woman stepped forward. Her footsteps were odd; Eggsy glanced down, and blinked. Her prosthetics were like a runner’s, but there was a sharp shaft down the middle. She could probably do quite a lot of damage with those.

She had seen his glance. She looked him over, and smirked faintly. Eggsy bristled again, but warily. Perhaps they’d cross paths some other time. Eggsy hoped it would be on his terms.

The woman with killer’s legs turned away; she and Valentine were leaving. Eggsy almost breathed a sigh of relief—

“Gentlemen, would you look after him, please,” Harry murmured, and started to follow the two deviants. Eggsy opened his mouth to protest, but anything he said would probably fall on deaf ears. Harry on a mission was stubbornness incarnate. There would be no arguing with him.

So Eggsy entered fitting room one, scowling hard and determined to be difficult.

~~~\0/~~~

“Would you like some more biscuits? I just took some out of the oven—“

“ _Mother_ ,” Percival sighed in exasperation, “We don’t need more. Feed them to the dog.”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Roxy declined gracefully, with a small smile. “I believe I’ve had enough.”

Percival’s mother sniffed at her son and smiled at Roxy. “Well, just call if you need anything,” she ordered. “I’ll be reading in the sunroom.” And she puttered away, humming to herself.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Percival grumbled.

“I really wish she’d stop thinking I’m older than I am,” Roxy murmured, sipping her tea. “She’s almost worse than Mama.”

Comparing matchmaking mothers was an old, comfortable conversation; but it wasn’t why Percival had asked Roxy to have a private cup of tea with him. After a bit of waffling, Percival got around to the point. “Arthur has decided to set you another task.”

Roxy frowned and set down her plate full of tarts. “It’s been fourteen hours,” she objected. “Surely we can get through the twenty-four without him shoving more tests down our throats. Or is he just that impatient?”

Percival shrugged, sipping his tea. “We do get the twenty-four,” he assured her, “And then you have six back at HQ. But after that, at some point tomorrow, he’ll send Merlin for you.”

“Well, that’s a steaming heap of horse manure,” Roxy said frankly.

“I agree,” Percival answered.

“What the fuck is his problem?! Why is he so scared of us?” Roxy threw up her hands, her expression disgusted; Percival quickly moved the tea-tray out of range in case she started gesturing while talking. “Is it because we’re younger than him? Is it just that I’m female and Eggsy’s a commoner? Is it because Charlie failed him? Why is he so insecure?”

“He isn’t,” Percival replied, startled. Arthur, insecure? Afraid of children? No, that couldn’t be right. “He’s just angry. He thinks Eggsy cheated.”

“Why, because he figured out an alternate path?”

“Yes.”

“He sounds pretty scared to me,” Roxy commented caustically.

Percival opened his mouth to deny it, then thought for a moment. He didn’t like his own thoughts. They meant that things had changed from the old order, and he disliked change. Too often it meant complete upheaval. “I think,” he began slowly, contemplating his teacup, “That Arthur is angry because he wants Eggsy to fail. He wants to humiliate him. When the test of loyalty “failed”, and yet everyone else let Eggsy pass, he was confused, and then furious. I was there when he told Merlin and Galahad that he was setting another task. I was there the last time, too, when Eggsy’s father passed the train test.”

Roxy went unexpectedly quiet. “Eggsy’s father?” she asked softly.

“Yes. He died during the third mission. He was… very good. Everyone expected him to win.” Percival poured himself more tea. “It’s their bloodlines, as well. Purer than Arthur’s. Purer than those trainers with their kennel. Every Unwin for over two hundred years has been a shapechanger. Kingsman’s been keeping an eye on them off and on for most of that time. The previous Merlin did a genealogy test, and found that sixty percent of English shapechangers have Unwin blood in them. And that’s just England. So when Harry found an Unwin with the perfect skill set and temperament, and a commoner to boot… who wouldn’t jump on that chance?”

“But he died.”

“Yes.”

“So Harry’s chosen Eggsy to take his place.”

“No. Harry’s chosen Eggsy for the same reasons he chose his father.”

“And Arthur is still scared, because this shows that Eggsy’s father wasn’t a fluke. Commoners really are as good as the upper-class.”

“He’s not scared,” Percival snapped, uneasily. “Arthur is never scared.”

“Do you know that?” Roxy persisted. “Do you really, truly know that?”

Percival had no answer. So he offered her a biscuit.

~~~\0/~~~

“These are your targets.” Merlin handed them each a full folder, the corners of his mouth turned down more than usual and his eyebrows closer together. “Usually these would be reserved for an actual agent, but—you will both do well.” It was more of an order than a reassurance. Eggsy and Roxy both caught the hesitation in his words, though it was slight; and neither understood.

“We will, sir,” Roxy promised gravely, as Eggsy opened his folder, pulled out the first page… and snorted.

“Something funny, candidate?” Merlin snapped, frowning fiercely.

“No, sir,” Eggsy answered, looking up at their instructor. He could not keep the confidence from his face. “It’s just that I’ve cracked this house before. They ain’t easy, but they ain’t hard neither.”

“We know. They’ve decked out the place with the latest hard- and software. It’s a tougher nut to crack than you’d think.”

“Sir,” Roxy began slowly, also looking through her information, “You haven’t given us any instructions or maps. Are we to get our own?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered shortly.

“Easy,” Eggsy commented, with scorn at people who built their houses with a cookie-cutter layout. “Unless they remodel or get a custom, their blueprints should be online. Rich people _love_ showing off their houses.”

The corner of Roxy’s mouth twitched upwards. “Not all of them,” she corrected.

“Well, most of them.”

“Enough. Get to work. Come to me when you’re finished.” And with that final order, Merlin stalked out of the room.

“Who shoved a stick up _his_ ass?” Eggsy muttered with a scowl.

“You know exactly who,” Roxy whispered back, her expression souring. Then she sighed and pulled out her pile of paper. “Well, we’d both better start reading.”

It turned out that Roxy’s house had also been one that Eggsy had broken into. Eggsy suspected lack of faith in his skills; Roxy cited sexism, and suggested that it might be both, or something else entirely.

“After all, we don’t know what’s going on in their tiny minds,” Roxy pointed out, leaning back against her headboard. She and Eggsy were sitting on opposite ends of her bed, the better to spread out their papers. “It’s even possible that they _do_ have faith in us. We made it this far, didn’t we?”

“Do you think they’ll let us both be agents?” Eggsy asked suddenly. “You’ll be Lancelot and I’ll… I’ll be a different knight. There were a shit ton of knights at the round table.”

“Well, if they want to keep Galahad, they better,” Roxy replied tartly. “I’m not losing to you, Eggsy. I’ll always be your friend, but I am _not_ going home, not after all this.”

Eggsy grinned. “That’s fair. Now, these guys, they’ve got a closet, right, right off this hall; you can use that if they haven’t hired any new patrols.”

They sketched out maps, and pulled up pictures and blueprints on the tablets each had been issued when Charlie had failed. There were actually quite a lot of pictures, which made both candidates suspect someone was playing them somehow; but they could not question orders. They sketched and memorized and discussed how best to locate the items they were being sent to retrieve. They did not think—they purposefully did not think—about what they would have to do if they were caught somehow.

After they had gone through their papers and finished the rough maps, they went to Merlin, arguing over whether they should tell Harry and Percival that they were going. Eggsy claimed they’d know anyway, so they should ask for advice; Roxy argued that, if this were a mission for actual agents, Merlin would’ve kept it as secret as possible. They still hadn’t reached a conclusion when they stepped through the door to the entrance, where Merlin held sway with his multitude of screens and keyboards. As always, both Eggsy and Roxy looked to the window that looked out into the hangar, and both grinned. They’d had a lot of fun there, pranking the other candidates and sabotaging them, all while completing their own work flawlessly and far quicker than estimated. Merlin had frowned but allowed it.

He was frowning now, too, at the main screen, his thick eyebrows knit and his stern mouth turned down and tightened. When he noticed the two youngsters standing at a respectful distance, folders under their arms, he immediately shut down whatever he’d been scowling so fiercely at. Eggsy resisted the urge to fidget. He’d never liked that expression on Merlin’s face. It heralded horrible things.

“Done?” Merlin asked shortly. The two others nodded. “Good. Roxanne, go to the shop, they’ll fit you for your suit. Eggsy, you’ve already been taken care of; you go convince Galahad you’re not going to be shot the moment you step out the door. And remember, neither of you breathe a word of your missions to anyone.”

Roxy and Eggsy nodded again.

“Dismissed.”

They walked to the shuttle together, and when they were settled in and the shuttle set off, they both breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, at least he didn’t shout at us,” Roxy commented.

“Yeah,” Eggsy replied, a little absently. He was wondering why Harry would need convincing of Eggsy’s competence. “Do you wanna know about what they got at the shop?”

“Yes, tell me everything.”

“Alright, so the shop’s pretty normal, but Harry told me that Kingsman suits are bulletproof, and there’s a fucking _arsenal_ in fitting room three…”

~~~\0/~~~

Harry did not like not knowing what Eggsy’s mission was. He did not like Merlin’s sound and reasonable objections to his knowing or finding out. He did not like Eggsy coming home, coming straight to Harry in the office, kissing him firmly, and asking, “Why the fuck don’t you trust me? I can do this.”

“I know you can, and I do trust you,” Harry corrected, pulling Eggsy down on to his lap. “It’s Arthur I distrust. He’s going to try and make this as impossible as he can. He’ll try to trip you up, get under your guard. I refuse to let him win. Let me help you.”

Eggsy was already shaking his head, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair. “No. I’ve got this. And you might get in trouble. He’s a steamin’ heap of dog shit, but he’s still in charge.”

Harry frowned, and Eggsy scowled right back. “It’s like Liza said,” he argued Harry’s unspoken comment, “You’re just obeying out of habit. Well, so is everyone else, and most don’t know it, and _they’re_ the fuckers you gotta watch, because he’ll use them to get you. Harry, please listen to me,” as Harry looked away, “We gotta do what we’re told for now, and that means you gotta trust me. Babe.” Eggsy put his hands on either side of Harry’s face and turned him, gently, back. Harry still frowned, but not at Eggsy. Never at Eggsy. “Baby, stop that. You hearin’ me?”

“I hear you,” Harry answered softly, dropping his gaze.

Eggsy sighed and kissed Harry’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

~~~\0/~~~

It was childishly easy, and therefore the most difficult thing Eggsy had ever done.

First, he staked out the house for three days. Roxy did the same at her target. It was easy to find a for-sale house nearby and sneak into the empty attic, setting up his ‘scope in the window. The gadgets Merlin had given them were fantastic; the ‘scope was small enough that it was invisible from every line of sight, but big enough that the feed on the screen Eggsy carried encompassed the whole building, in extreme detail. He had three other ‘scopes set up, one for each side of the house; but the attic, with a clear view of the front door, was Eggsy’s hideout. Here he set up the radar, almost as small as the ‘scope, to gather speech vibrations; here he set up the screens and computers and all the data-retaining and transmitting things that Merlin had insisted he take. Here he slept for two hours at noon on the hard wood floor with his jacket as a pillow, his equipment beeping ever so softly.

He spent the nights as a dog, trotting through the streets, learning the lay of the land. He planned entry and escape, and made friends with the local policeman. During the day, he reviewed the information gathered and wrote up summaries of each hour. It was desperately, horrifyingly boring. But it was also the most important part.

He had arrived and set up camp at a calm midnight. After three days and three nights, he knew why it was so calm; because there was a child here, and the homeowners were his grandparents. Everyone went to bed early.

During the day, however…

Eggsy chose a golden afternoon to break in. The maid and cook both had leave for the evening; the child and his caretaker (funny, both their scents had been familiar to his dog-nose) were at the park; and the grandparents were out visiting. No one would be home for exactly one hour. Plenty of time to find the packet of papers he’d been sent for.

There were people on the street, but no one looked twice at the young man striding purposefully down the pavement. Perhaps he was simply on his way home from hanging out with friends, since he obviously knew the area. He paused in front of a certain house, checking his phone, perhaps to confirm the address, perhaps simply texting, or checking his email. Kids these days.

At the exact moment that absolutely no eyes were on him, Eggsy hopped over the fence, went up to the door (ignoring the tiny camera), and used his key to open it. His key which was actually a lockpick that conformed to the inside of any lock, and that, with a particular twist, could reform back into a single block; the camera that he had remotely deactivated with the “phone” Merlin had given him. Eyes passed over him as he opened the portal; but since it was obvious he had a key (how else could he get inside?) and he had a passing resemblance to those who lived there, perhaps he was related to them, and had every right to be there.

Eggsy closed the door behind him, scanned the hall, and scowled. His new glasses picked up two cameras pointing straight at him, and a vibration detector under the table. They were all cheap models, the detector not even tripped by the careful opening and closing of the door. Oh, it was beeping, on the alert, but it hadn’t gone off yet. There was a motion-detector attached to the camera on the left. Alright, first order of business; find the hub, as it were, and edit all trace of his entrance. When that was finished, he would put all the cameras on loop and disable all other precautions, so that he would be virtually invisible.

He had reason to believe the hub was in the cellar. Thanks to the schematics he and Roxy had found, it was easy to find; through to the kitchen, being careful to avoid detection by device, through a small door, down a musty-smelling stair, and into a room full of shelves and wine. Eggsy frowned again. Now, where…?

Ah, that’s right. He tapped the side of his glasses, activating the x-ray function. It wasn’t true x-ray vision, but it was enough to show that the door to a second room was hidden behind a shelf of dusty cans and bottle. First, Eggsy checked the floor; there were scuff marks, fairly recent, but slightly dust-covered. Not that many would check for dust or scrapes. Still, Eggsy very carefully lifted the end of the shelf and set it down just far enough that he could slither past and open the door.

And here it was. A small room, all fresh concrete and sleek machinery, reminding him sharply of a smaller version of Merlin’s area. Eggsy ground his teeth and stepped lightly to the bank of controls.

It was easy to override the protections and guess the passwords. When he had complete control, he tapped the side of his glasses twice, and whispered, “Merlin? You there?”

_“As always,”_ Merlin’s voice answered dryly, as clear as if he stood in the same room as Eggsy. _“I’m not walking you through whatever you’re planning.”_

“I know. But it’d be easier if you took control of this, right? You won’t muck it up, and I don’t have the time to do this _and_ finish up the mission.”

_“…well, I haven’t got much else to do. Connect me to the mainframe.”_

Eggsy obediently knelt, took out his toolpack from the back of his belt, and unscrewed the panel on the front of the computer bank. It took barely a minute to plant the tiny transmitter-button on the proper chip. He still wasn’t sure how this worked—he was not as much of a techhead as Roxy—but he knew Merlin now had complete access. He replaced the panel, making sure to buff away his fingerprints with his sleeve, and stood. Each of the eight small screens in front of him flickered once, then settled. Eggsy grinned. And now he would be practically invisible, as long as he was careful and did nothing overt.

_“Got it,”_ Merlin murmured. _“Now get moving, Eggsy.”_

“Yessir.”

Eggsy slipped from the cellar, leaving as little trace as possible. Then he crept to the stairs to the upper hall, checking that each door on the ground floor was closed and each room was empty.

Up the stairs. Down the hall, up more stairs. Down another hall. To a study, the door left carelessly open. Eggsy frowned. Every other door was firmly shut; why was this one different?

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, and put on his very thin, very flexible leather gloves. Technically there was no need, but as the instructors had always said, it was much better to be safe than sorry. The place was a mess; someone had been here before him. Hopefully they had found what they wanted, and hopefully it wasn’t what he himself was after. So he searched the papers on the desk, in the drawers, on the floor; he looked through the books on the shelves, found a fake one full of money which he thoughtfully replaced; he searched the furniture for hidden drawers or cubbyholes, and found a false bottom. He opened it, and there were the papers he was looking for. The papers that were proof that the grandfather had, indeed, poisoned his own children in order to gain custody of his grandson. Eggsy ground his teeth as he flipped through the thin sheaf of papers, then gently tucked them in a special folder Merlin had given him, the properties of which he still was not quite sure. Then he put the folder under his jacket again.

Voices outside the window.

Eggsy froze. Carefully, on his hands and knees, he crept to the wall and peeked through the window.

The child and his caretaker were home, and the child was furious about it. No, no, this was all wrong; they weren’t supposed to be back yet. This—this had the potential to ruin everything.

He backed away and to the side. When he was out of the golden beam of light coming through the window—what a glorious day to _stay away damn it_ —he stood, crept to the door, opened it, slipped out into the hall, closed it, stood torn between the stairs and the window at the end of the hall…

A scream.

Running feet.

A child crying.

Eggsy reacted without thinking, jerking towards the stairs and running, running as if that had been his mother and sister screaming, because that was all he could think of—he collided on the stairs with the caretaker and the child screaming in her arms. Eggsy shoved them behind him and finished hopping down the steps, drawing his gun, keeping it low, turning sideways to present a smaller target. The attacker leapt back, and Eggsy pivoted sharply to face them.

They were in the hall now. Eggsy’s back was to the stairs. Sobs echoed down them, and frantic hushing. Eggsy ignored them, focusing entirely on his opponent. The other was his height, dressed in a charcoal catsuit, soft boots, black gloves, and a scarf wound around their face and hair. Not even their eyes were visible.

“Hello, Eggsy,” the assassin said calmly. “You’re in my way.”

“No,” Eggsy replied harshly. It shook him, for this person to know his name. And yet—why wouldn’t they? To his panicking mind, it was absolutely possible that they knew everything. “Who’re you after? The boy or the lady?”

“Both. Neither. All. None.” The assassin cocked their head, as if listening to those upstairs. Then they laughed softly. “Come and get me.”

They turned and whisked away. Eggsy hesitated, confused; should he turn back, and comfort the two strangers who were probably calling the police at this very moment? Should he give chase, knowing that it was likely they would both be caught and detained? Which was more dangerous to let go; the children sobbing upstairs, or the person with a knife?

He chose the chase.

_“EGGSY, NO!”_

He ignored Merlin’s shout in his ear, ran down the hall, down the stairs; the assassin was waiting in the hall, chuckling. Eggsy charged. The other darted through a door, and just as Eggsy reached the portal, they hopped out the window. He did not stop to think. He simply jumped after them, rolling as he hit the ground with a jolt, and popped to his feet just as his quarry leapt over the fence, into the neighbor’s yard. Eggsy followed.

They ran, and ran, and ran. Often they ran through crowds; never did Eggsy lose sight of the other. He was focused solely on them, on herding them towards empty places, dark places, somewhere there were no people. Finally, he managed to get around them and change their direction, so they fled down a dead-end alley. Night had fallen. There was nothing here but trash and silence. Their panting breaths were the only sound.

“How did you get in?” Eggsy wheezed, trying to sound fierce, only managing out of breath.

“Followed you,” the other gasped. “That was very nice of you, to make your friend turn off the cameras and things. I waited downstairs, and when they came in…” They shrugged. “I almost got them, but they were ahead of me. As it is, I’ll have to come back for them tonight, before they run too far. You’ll be out of the way by then.” They drew their knife. Eggsy tensed, waiting for the spring—

It never came, but somehow his gun was gone, at the far end of the alley, and the assassin was mere inches away. Eggsy stumbled back, and they plucked his glasses from his face with their elegant gloved fingers. They threw the eyewear down and crushed them under their foot.

Now Eggsy was truly alone.

“Why are you after them?” he demanded, having caught his breath.

“Does it matter? They are not my problem anymore. _You_ are. Eggsy. Gary Eggsy Unwin.”

Eggsy’s heart stopped for a moment. “How do you…?”

“Again, does it matter?” They began to circle him, and Eggsy turned with them. “I just know. I know why you were sent, too.”

He refused to let them see his uneasiness. His tiny drop of fear, as the knife gleamed, and that calm voice continued.

“Do you know why they sent a boy to do a man’s job?”

Eggsy kept his eyes on the knife, slowly waving like a cobra’s head. A cobra…

“Because they want to get rid of you.” The knife darted forward, quick as a snake; just as quickly, Eggsy leapt back and to the side, avoiding the blow. “They think you’re just a worthless piece of street-trash.”

Eggsy snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he retorted, jabbing his fist at the other, not particularly trying to hit, just to make them move, tell him their next attack. They didn’t, just kept circling, and he circled with them.

“No, you’re thinking of Arthur.” Another dart, another dodge. “Arthur hates everyone and everything that isn’t himself. No, it isn’t just him.” Another feint, another foil. Why was he still listening to this snake? “That old bag, Elizabeth—she seems kind, doesn’t she? Do you know why she never became the first Indian Kingsman? Because she killed her recruiter.”

Eggsy stopped dead, eyes widening. The assassin jumped forward, but Eggsy stepped just enough to the side to be missed completely, and sank his fist into the assassin’s stomach.

“Don’t you _dare_ talk shit about Liza!” Eggsy snarled, landing one more hit to the assassin’s spine before they slid away, soundless and slithering, to stand and circle. “She’s the best of them all! She’d never do that!”

“What about the former Lancelot? He cheated, and everyone let him. He tried his best to make your father fail, like what they did to you, and everyone _let_ him.”

“No,” Eggsy whispered, “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” the other asked softly, still circling, though Eggsy had fallen still. “Think about it. How _did_ your father die? No one told you, did they? I’ll tell you; I was there. Oh, they didn’t see me, but I saw them.”

Stop listening, Eggsy. Stop listening, stop listening.

“He died painfully. They tricked him, forced him to give up his life, and he died in pain. That is what your lovely Kingsman does to those it deems unfit.” The assassin reached out and casually flicked the very tip of their blade across Eggsy’s cheekbone; he barely noticed, staring at the assassin with wide eyes. “Oh yes. Yes, I saw the whole thing. And your precious Galahad did _nothing_.”

That shook him free. With a snarl of hate and fury, Eggsy sprang forward, not caring what he hit, just so long as he did, knocking the knife far away out of the killer’s hands and bowling them over, pouncing like a hunting dog sensing a kill, fist rising and falling fast—but the killer wriggled like the snake they were and escaped his wrath, and rolled to their feet. Eggsy rose, staggering a little, and charged again, but the assassin wasn’t there.

“You’ll do anything to protect him, won’t you?” the assassin taunted, dodging attack after attack. Vaguely, Eggsy noticed that they limped, and that they sounded out of breath. “Anything to keep the image pure. Let me tell you something, Gary; he’s not pure. He’s not guiltless. He’s got blood on his hands, innocent, unwitting blood. He doesn’t live up to his name. And all of the others, they’re just dutiful little dolls, doing what they’re told, empty little shells—“

“Shut up, _shut up, SHUT UP_!”

Eggsy kicked up between the assassin’s legs. They lurched, staggered, kept their balance, though they limped heavily—that was their undoing, because with a roar of triumph Eggsy drove them to the ground again, knelt on their chest, and began to systematically beat their face in.

“Don’t—be—a duti—ful—doll,” the assassin gasp between punches, and shoved Eggsy over, rolling on top and grabbing his wrists, leaning on his bent arms. “Don’t become an obedient, empty shell. _Fight_ them, Gary! Fight the people who killed your father, who hurt your mother! Fight the man who’s going to break your heart and leave you alone and dead inside!”

Eggsy was beyond listening, he thought, too furious to answer coherently; but he still heard the words, though not the meaning, and they hurt. Like an enraged animal—like a rabid dog—he wrestled and thrashed and snapped and snarled, trying to throw the other off, but they had him. They had him cold.

And all he could think was, ‘I haven’t said “I love you” to Harry in a while.’

“Kingsman will hurt you,” the assassin insisted. “That’s what they do to people like you—people like _us_. Kingsman is rotten, from the inside out, and they’ll infect you too. So help us help you. Tell us what we need to know, so we can crack them like an egg. I’ll—“

Eggsy snarled and ‘shifted, lunging for the assassin’s throat. They ‘shifted too, quick as thought, to a viper the size of a large python. Eggsy the corgi skidded in the dust, and whipped around to keep the viper in sight. He wasn’t made for this; he was too short, too stumpy, for all that he was at his fittest. His muzzle and paws were all wrong for this. But he couldn’t lose. This was the final stage of the battle, and he could not lose.

The viper rose up and hissed, a sound like dry leaves skittering over pavement mixed with the liquid roil of boiling water. Eggsy growled defiance, but it was a last-ditch defiance, a frightened, final-stand defiance. And the viper knew it, before it lunged.

It was a blur, the dodging, the leaping, the snapping his teeth closed on empty air, the scrambling to get out of range with each miss; he wished he were bigger, faster, thicker-skinned or –furred. Maybe it went on for hours; maybe it was only a few minutes. But eventually, he had them.

He launched himself, caught them right behind the head, and bit down. He bit down so hard, in fact, that he half-decapitated the viper; it didn’t even have time to hiss in fury.

Eggsy stood there, trembling with exhaustion, and with blood not his own filling his mouth.

Blood…

With a gasp, he changed back, scrambled to his clothes, and dressed again, fumbling buttons, nearly ripping seams in his haste. There was still blood in his mouth. Salty, tangy, iron-tasting, vomit-inducing blood. He paused and took a moment to be sick, violently and copiously.

“You’re wrong,” he gasped, refusing to look at the dead snake. “About Kingsman. They—they do good work. You’re _wrong_.” A tear actually slid down his cheek; he wiped it on his wrist and his mouth on his sleeve, and then he ran.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry was pacing his office when he heard the door open. He hurried out into the hall, and stopped short.

Eggsy stepped quietly inside the house, and gently closed and locked the door. There was blood on his front, and bile, though his face and throat were wiped clean. His eyes were wide, his face calm. “I need a shower,” he said.

“Would you like help?” Harry asked.

Eggsy had to think about that for a minute. Then he said, “Yes. Please.”

They went upstairs and to the bathroom. Eggsy turned on the shower and took off his jacket, but his fingers fumbled his tie, and Harry had to help unknot the stiffened, sticky fabric. Then he had to help unbutton the first half of Eggsy’s shirt, because Eggsy couldn’t touch the blood. It had coated his chest and soaked through.

He could take off his trousers and pants by himself, and Harry let him. Then Eggsy stepped into the shower and closed the curtain.

Harry started to the door, but before he got very far a hand shot out from behind the curtain and latched to his sleeve. Harry nodded, and eased back, closing the bathroom door with his foot before taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet. The hand let go of him and retreated behind the curtain again.

Neither spoke. Harry folded the blood-stained clothes neatly and set them on the floor. There was the sound of fierce scrubbing, and suddenly a ragged gasp, and a thump like a body falling; Harry stood immediately and whipped the curtain back, ignoring the spray that hit his right side, to find Eggsy hugging his knees to his chest, hiding his face.

“Eggsy, dearest,” Harry murmured, kneeling beside the tub and touching Eggsy’s shoulder gently. “Please get up.”

Eggsy was shivering. “I can still taste it,” he whispered. “The blood.”

Harry slicked back Eggsy’s hair. Blood? All he’d been told was that there had been complications, that Eggsy had had to kill or be killed. Why would he taste…? Oh no. Oh, no, dearest…

“I’m gonna be sick,” Eggsy announced.

“Come on, stand up. Be sick somewhere other than all over yourself.”

Eggsy managed to get to the toilet, still dripping and sudsy, before he vomited. Very little came up. Harry kept his hair out of his eyes—when was his last haircut?—and wrapped him in a towel. After a moment of thought, during which Eggsy sat back on his heels and closed his eyes, focusing on breathing evenly, Harry got another towel from the linen closet and swaddled him in that as well, covering his shivering shoulders. Eggsy sat up and spat into the toilet, before flushing it wearily.

“I need to… finish cleaning up,” he mumbled.

“No, you do not,” Harry replied grimly. “You need to wash out your mouth, and then you are going to nap for an hour, and when I wake you, you are to go and give your report.”

“But I need to give it as soon as possible,” Eggsy insisted, in a small, rather weak voice. He did not raise his head to look at Harry **.** He was still shivering, too.

“I will take responsibility. Let’s get you to bed, and then you can rest.”

First, Eggsy brushed his teeth and gargled some mouthwash. Then Harry led him to the bedroom, gave him clean clothes (he chose not to help, so as to let Eggsy gain back some dignity with this show of propriety and independence), and tucked him in. A gentle kiss on Eggsy’s forehead and he went back to the bathroom for the soiled garments. They would have to be burned. A pity; they were some of the best the tailors had ever sewn for a mere candidate. But nothing could wash out those stains.

When he had shoved the clothes in his “to burn” hamper, he checked on Eggsy. The younger man was curled up with the blanket over his head, but he was not asleep. He shivered in little bursts, and breathed very lightly and shallowly. Harry gave him another kiss. Then he went downstairs again and called Merlin on his videophone.

After a terse exchange of greetings, Harry got right down to the meat of the matter. Why was he not informed of the manner of Eggsy’s first kill? Why did they expect him to report immediately? And most of all, he would not be letting Eggsy near Arthur for a full 24 hours, or until Eggsy was ready.

_“Arthur is not going to be happy with that,”_ Merlin warned Harry.

“Arthur can go fuck himself,” Harry replied tightly. “I refuse to let him poison m—Eggsy.”

Merlin eyed him thoughtfully for a moment—perhaps he guessed what Harry had been about to say—then nodded. _“I will inform him.”_


	9. Secrets and answers

Eggsy was dreaming.

_He’s never had such a strange dream. He walks down a tunnel, all alone. He’s half-changed; his legs are a corgi’s, and he has a tail, and his hands are paws. He can tell without touching it that his flat little face is now a muzzle, and his whole body is covered in ginger and white fur._

_But these are small things, of no consequence. The thing that is most terrifying is that it is so absolutely silent. There is no hush of flowing air, though it’s not musty and thick; there is no soft padding from his paws, no matter how hard he stomps. He almost thinks he’s deaf, except he knows immediately that he would not recognize the silence if he were deaf. It’s a physical presence, filling his ears and nose and mouth…_

_And the dark. It comes and goes. He would not notice or mind, except that every moment of dark seems to last longer and longer. He blunders into a wall, and yanks back, letting out a squeak that does not exist. The dark has made the stone of the tunnel colder than cold, colder than a cat’s stare, colder than a serpent’s heart._

_But if a serpent is cold, how can its blood be hotter than fire?_

_At that thought, a taste fills his mouth, salty and hot and life-giving—and wrong,_ wrong _,_ WRONG _! He retches into the silence, and the blood and vomit vanish into the hungry maw of the sentient dark._

“Eggsy? Eggsy, wake up.”

_But he can’t. He staggers around the puddle-that-isn’t-there on his silly little legs, drops to all fours, and runs. Runs down the tunnel, through the dark, around the silence, runs until he collapses. But the dark slithers over him like silk sheets, the silence slides beside him like pythons—he gets up and runs again, terrified and heartbroken._

_He runs for eternity and beyond. Every time he falls, the silence is there to greet him. Every time he gets up, he hears a voice behind him calling his name. But the way back is blocked with darkness and silence, blood and serpents._

_Finally, he is too tired to go on. He curls up on the frozen stone floor, sobbing hysterically, as the darkness enfolds him like a hateful mother and the serpent silence wraps around him, squeezing tighter and tighter…_

“Eggsy, wake up!”

_A rib breaks. Then another. He begins to scream—_

—and wakes himself up.

He flung himself upright, nearly smacking Roxy in the face as he did so. No, there was no serpent-silence; there was no cat-cold darkness. He heaved one dry sob before he remembered who was beside him, and swallowed the beginnings of tears.

“Are you alright?” Roxy asked, frowning worriedly. Then, as Eggsy opened his mouth to answer, she shook her head and amended, “No, that was a stupid question. Are you better than you were?”

Eggsy fought to think through the cobwebs of fear, but eventually he managed. No. He wasn’t. It was shoved away, one removed, but only for a while. It would be back. He’d never been good at desensitization. It would be back. His blood ran cold.

But he could function, if that was what she meant.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Where’s Harry?”

“He left, probably to yell at Arthur. I hope it’s only to yell at Arthur. He looked pretty furious. Can JB come up?”

Eggsy thumped the counterpane twice, and JB promptly sprung up on to the bed, kissing his human vigorously in an attempt to reassure himself that his human was whole and healthy and not in pain. Eggsy snuggled JB gratefully. He’d have snuggled Harry, but… “Why are you here?”

“Merlin sent me for your reports.” Roxy sat sideways on the bed by Eggsy’s knee and pulled out a small recorder, setting it on the counterpane between them. “Do you want to say it or write it?”

“I’ll say it.”

It was easier that way. Eggsy described everything, from the moment he’d set up his stakeout spot to the chase. He suddenly remembered the child and the woman.

“Sven and Alanna,” he whispered.

“Who?” Roxy inquired, beginning to frown.

“Sven and Alanna. When Dean tied me up in the park, they took me home. Then I got caught and put in a kennel…” And then he’d seen Harry for the first time. “But that was before—before Kingsman happened.” He took a breath, kissed JB’s head, and continued talking about the mission. “I got them, the—the assassin down a tunnel—they knew who I was, Rox.” JB protested as Eggsy hugged him tighter, shuddering at the memory. “They knew me, and Kingsman. They knew so much, but they said they needed to know more. They said Kingsman wants me dead.” He laughed quietly, bitterly. “As if I don’t know that already,” he muttered. Louder, “They kept trying to get at me, and—and they did. At the end I couldn’t—” Oh god, was he crying? He drew up his knees and hid his face behind them. JB squirmed and kicked and twisted into a better position in his arms.

“Eggsy, what did they say?” Roxy asked gently.

He told her, but it came out jumbled and thick with unshed tears, and he kept backtracking and correcting himself. He tried to be clear, but he was sure Roxy was definitely putting her interrogation skills to the test.

And then he got to the fight, and he just cut himself off.

“What happened then?” Roxy prompted.

Eggsy stared at his knees. What a lovely shade of blue, this blanket.

“Eggsy.”

The shadows were soft-edged and warm, not at all like the darkness in his nightmare.

“Eggsy, you have to tell me.”

“Why?” he whispered. “Wasn’t it on the news? ‘Giant Viper Found In Alley’?”

“No. The news stories were about the human who was found dead with their head nearly bit off.”

Eggsy closed his eyes and swallowed hard. No blood in his mouth. No flesh between his teeth. He hadn’t known dead ‘shifters turned back into humans. That made it so much worse.

“Eggsy, did you do that?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

Roxy turned off the recorder. “You don’t have to tell me any more,” she told him gently. “I’ll tell Merlin you clammed up again.”

Eggsy nodded, giving JB comforting scritches. He didn’t know who he was trying to comfort.

He got out of bed to show Roxy to the kitchen, where they nibbled cake and drank mugs of the tea Elizabeth had gifted Eggsy. He needed the shock. JB hoovered up the crumbs that inevitably fell to the floor.

“What was your mission like?” Eggsy asked.

“Not nearly as… strange… as yours,” Roxy answered, surreptitiously dropping a bit of cake for JB. “They had a party every night while I was staking them out. It wasn’t that hard to climb the tree near the balcony. Thank you for the advice about the closet, by the way. I had to hide for an hour while some guests snogged in the hall.” She pulled a face and Eggsy smiled weakly. “I simply do not understand people like that. Anyway, the guard patrolling that part of the house shooed them downstairs, and while he was escorting them I got to the upstairs. The statue was on display. Idiots. I had to leave it while I looked for the letters, though. I’d thought they’d’ve burned the letters, but no, they were just hidden in a safe behind the fireplace. They’ve a gas fire, so it was easy to turn it off—they had a _gas-fire_ going in an _empty room_ , can you believe it?”

“Idiots,” Eggsy echoed scornfully around a mouthful of cake.

Roxy shook her head and sighed. “That’s what inbreeding does,” she muttered. “Idiots who tempt Fate with fire. It wasn’t as easy getting out. I had to knock out a few bystanders. But—“ she stopped, looking at Eggsy. Then she said, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eggsy said softly. He’d thought of the same thing, on the long, hideous walk back to his hideout. Why didn’t he just knock out the assassin? Why couldn’t he be nonlethal like they’d been taught?

He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

“But I made it to my hideout, and from there to the getaway car. Galahad should be back by now,” Roxy commented abruptly, glancing at her watch. “Unless he really did try to kill Arthur.”

Eggsy almost dared not hope. Almost.

~~~\0/~~~

Harry was pacing his prison, growling.

“I’m not letting you out,” Merlin said calmly, leaning against the outside of the solid iron door with its slit-window.

“I know you won’t,” Harry snapped back, still pacing.

He had not meant to snap like that. But he had known, just _known_ , that Arthur had been the one to set the bait for Eggsy. The one who’d put him in a kill-or-be-killed position. The one who’d hurt him so badly.

Harry hadn’t even wanted to smell the cretin, let alone see him, but Arthur had walked in on the discussion—argument—about when Eggsy should be brought back for the final test. Harry had already been snarling, and Merlin had already been snapping back, so for that piece of shit to walk through the door and straight to Merlin, ignoring Harry completely—it had been too much. Harry hadn’t even thought, ‘shifting as soon as he’d realized and lunging for Arthur’s throat.

Merlin had knocked him aside before he could land a single bite and shoved Arthur out the door. And then he’d shot Harry with a tranquilizer dart, and dragged him here.

Harry hated this cell almost as much as he hated Arthur. He’d been locked here more than once during his first year as a Kingsman, as protection from alphas who wanted to “assert their dominance”. Then, he had still been a little afraid, and was glad of the iron and solid rock; now, he simply loathed every aspect of this place.

Impotent anger was dying. He snarled and slammed his fists against the door, leaning on it beside the window, where Merlin still leaned.

“Let me out,” he demanded harshly.

“Not until you calm down,” Merlin retorted.

“I am calm!”

“That didn’t sound calm to me.”

Harry took three deep breaths, but they didn’t help. He pressed his forehead against the cool metal and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

“I need to be with Eggsy,” he said tightly.

“He’ll be here in a few hours.”

“I need to be with him _now_.”

“Do you promise not to kill your boss?”

“No.”

“Then I can’t let you out,” Merlin repeated, patiently, as if to a small child. “When you’re capable of smiling I will consider it.”

Of course he’d pick the most difficult thing for Harry. Smiling did not come naturally to him. He barely smiled around Eggsy, for god’s sake. His anger was burning up, edges curling like burning paper, leaving ashes and dust. He felt his shoulders slump, his face relax, his eyes burn with fire unrelated to the anger. His stomach was heavy with a strange, dull sadness. He couldn’t help. He couldn’t protect his bondmate. He couldn’t eliminate the threat. What was he for, if not for killing? Was that not his whole purpose? He was spy and assassin. That was all he was. He had nothing else to give—and he couldn’t even give that.

“Please let me out,” he whispered, eyes still closed tight.

Merlin took a long time to answer. Then he pushed away from the door and unlocked it. Harry stepped back as the door swung inwards.

“Get out of here,” Merlin ordered, standing to one side and jerking his head in the direction of the exit from the corridor of cells.

Harry did not need to be told twice.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy and Roxy were stepping out of the shuttle into the entry when Harry slammed open the door and strode out, looking murderous—but he stopped in his tracks when he saw the two younger folk, and his expression cleared to relief.

“Feeling better?” he asked Eggsy, a little lamely.

“Yeah,” Eggsy replied, a bit awkward.

Roxy looked at her watch and announced calmly, “I need to find Merlin. If you’ll excuse me—“

Harry’s relief vanished. His mouth tightened and his eyebrows snapped together, though the expression did not seem directed at Roxy. “He’s downstairs,” he informed her. “See if you can talk some sense into him.”

Roxy looked at him sideways, but nodded and quit the room.

Harry and Eggsy stood still for a moment. Then Eggsy took a step forward, and before he could take another, Harry crossed the distance between them and hugged him tightly.

“I tried,” Harry whispered.

“Tried what?” Eggsy returned the embrace, pulling Harry’s head down to his shoulder and nuzzling his ear. It was so nice to hold his bondmate like this, even if it was in a public space.

“Tried to kill him. But Merlin stopped me.”

Eggsy went cold. “Kill who?” he asked calmly.

“Arthur.”

Eggsy drew Harry over to the only chair, parked in front of the computers. Harry sat in it; Eggsy knelt in front of him and leaned on his knees. Harry’s fingers automatically searched out Eggsy’s partial ear.

“Why did you try to kill Arthur?” Eggsy asked quietly.

“He did it.” Harry traced the scar. “He sent that—snake after you.”

Eggsy closed his eyes. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s the only logical conclusion.”

Harry let out a huge sigh, like he’d been afraid Eggsy would argue. “I didn’t plan on it. I was arguing with Merlin and he walked in…”

Eggsy smiled a little and snuggled against Harry’s leg a little more. He liked being reminded of all the little things that made him love Harry; and the impulsiveness was one of them. As was the protectiveness. Maybe not the murderous instincts, but that was just something to work on. Maybe.

Harry traced the scar again. “Do you have to report to Merlin?” he asked heavily.

“Roxy took my statement, so I dunno. Probably. What about you?”

“I… have work to be done. I have been putting it off far too long.” Harry stood, then sank to his knees, gathering Eggsy into his arms and kissing his temple gently. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m not.”

“But you almost are.”

It occurred to Eggsy that there might have been an excellent reason for Harry’s fear of being vulnerable. The almost plaintive tone in his voice made Eggsy loath to tell the truth; so he settled for, “Yeah, I’m getting there.”

Harry nodded and kissed him, then stood and pulled him to his feet. Before either could say anything, the door opened, and Merlin and Roxy walked in.

Merlin jerked his head towards the door. “Roxy will escort you to your reviews,” he told Harry bluntly. “Eggsy, I need a full report. Every detail.”

Every detail. Okay. Right. He could do this. He took a breath, squeezed Harry’s hand, and watched as his bondmate and friend abandoned him to Merlin’s tender mercies.

As the door closed behind them, Eggsy forced himself to look at Merlin, and showed no fear. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked.

~~~\0/~~~

It annoyed Harry that people were hovering. Not his fellow agents, they were all busy elsewhere; support staff, cleanup crews, miscellaneous folk who did whatever oddjobs were required. They were all always hovering in doorways, on the wall, and probably at the surveillance centers. It set him on edge, distracted him. He wished they’d all just go away.

Roxanne, to her credit, did not hover. She stood an exact distance away from him at all times, except when he had to run laps. Then she stayed at the finish line and wrote down lap times. He had to do two obstacle courses, one as human, one as dog; and while he had actually increased in speed as a setter, his score did drop as a human. It was the more legs thing, he was sure of it. Better balance.

Thankfully, he did not need to go through the tedious process of testing if he was up-to-date on the latest codes and ciphers. He could do that at home, after he’d confirmed that Eggsy was alright.

Roxanne was not his proctor when it came to the combat tests. Instead, Percival was—as well as his opponent.

Harry dumped him on his ass within the first five seconds.

“I thought you were supposed to be better than that,” Harry commented in disappointment, circling Percival at a safe distance, eyes flicking around the gym in case more “enemies” pounced. “Are you just saving it?”

Percival winced as he sat up, and then grinned. “No. Can we try again, though?”

Eventually, after about a half hour of boring single-enemy combat, people dressed all in black oozed through the doors and attacked. _Now_ Harry had a fight on his hands, twisting and dodging as he threw people and punched and kicked and, in a few cases, bit. These fighters were used to that. They were all hand-picked from special forces around the world, and, while he couldn’t tell by face, he knew them by style and smell.

Suddenly, as one, they ‘changed into animal shape; all were a different species, none of them canine or even lupine. Harry ‘changed as soon as they did and went into a frenzy, fending off an eagle, a badger, a wolverine, and, of all things, a moose; a hawk, a komodo dragon, a leopard, a fox. Each called for a different style of battle; and all together, they called for a split of attention that many of the other agents hadn’t mastered completely after all this time.

None were a snake.

Harry passed, of course. He marked all of them, which meant each had to retire to the sidelines in disgust. Finally, he stood alone and panting in the middle of the gym, speckled with blood not his own. He grinned at his opponents, who all replied with their versions of acknowledgement, be it a noise, a look, or a movement.

“I think it’s time for your next test,” Percival announced cheerfully. “Pleasure watching, Galahad, as always.”

Harry nodded, grabbed his clothes, and dragged them to the door to the changing room.

Roxanne was waiting outside when Harry finished dressing. She walked with him—she never led; respect for his station, or respect for Eggsy’s mate?—all the way to the firing range. Once there, she said lightly, “Do you have to go to the lavatory again?”

Well, now that she mentioned it, yes. He’d already gone twice today, which would’ve been fine, if there had been more than two hours between pee breaks. Granted, he’d been drinking a lot more lately… drinking strange things like juices and soda, and not mixing them with alcohol. He’d been avoiding alcohol altogether for a while now…

“Yes, actually, I do,” he answered Roxanne.

She prepped the range while he went for a piss. He was tempted to run away, but that was not how an agent reacted to something so straightforward as—

Something in his abdomen suddenly cramped, and a wave of nausea hit him so hard he swayed, even as he scrabbled desperately for a handhold on the urinal to keep from falling over. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

He forced the thought away. No. He would not think of it. He would not think of it. He would not—the range, the firing range. Roxanne waiting to report his results. Yes. Think on that. His hands stopped shaking. The cramps eased. The nausea stayed.

Harry walked slowly, calmly, and deliberately out of the restroom, making sure to wash his hands. Then he went to the range.

The “range” was not just a long room with some targets at the end. It was a huge echoing chamber where all kinds of projectile weapons were tested and trained with. All the candidates had visited twice, three times if Merlin thought they were good enough; Roxanne had been here four times, due to her archery training as well as firearms. She did not even blink as they stepped out into the chamber.

There was no one else present. No one to see Harry’s perfect score with handgun, shotgun, rifle, and machine gun. No one to notice how he positioned himself a little too carefully when testing with cross, long, short, and recurve bows, with varieties of arrows.

No one to see him sway, blink, and fall to his knees, vomiting copiously and violently.

No one but Roxanne, who immediately went and slammed her fist against the Medical Emergency button on the wall, usually reserved for when someone shot a hole in their foot or leg, and rushed over to hold Harry up before he fell in the puddle of sick.

~~~\0/~~~

Eggsy had thought the questioning would just be a few minutes. He didn’t expect to spend three hours on his feet as Merlin sat in his comfortable chair, talking and talking, answering questions that sounded like they meant exactly the same thing, but were actually worded slightly different. He didn’t just ask about the mission, either; when Eggsy admitted to having met Sven and Alanna before, Merlin wanted that whole story as well, beginning to end. And when that line was done, Merlin switched right back to the mission, with questions that were probably designed by a hundred teams of psychology experts to trip up any who were asked them.

Eggsy was exhausted and afraid by the time Merlin asked, “How did you herd them into the alley?”

“I—I just—I just did,” Eggsy answered lamely, fighting the memories. “I got around ‘em—startled ‘em—it was like with the cows at the farm. Got ‘em in the right place and scared them. I think. I’m not sure. They—they might of let me do it—I’m not sure.”

Merlin raised one eyebrow, but continued calmly. “What did you do when you had them?”

“I—“ This was the worst bit, the shameful part. Eggsy hung his head, bit his lip a little. “I let them talk,” he mumbled.

Merlin sighed. “Eggsy,” he admonished, disappointed, not angry.

No excuse. Never give an excuse. Eggsy bit his lip again, harder.

“What did they say? Verbatim.”

It took a moment, but slowly, Eggsy’s memories sorted themselves out. Carefully, avoiding the thoughts at the end of this line, he gave the conversation, word for word, interjecting with the motions and movements that had led up to—

He made it all the way through the fight while they were ‘shifted, and then he had to sit, very suddenly, and stare at Merlin’s expensive shoes instead of look him in the eye.

Merlin sighed. “You have to get used to it at some point, Eggsy,” he reminded his student gently. “It might as well be now. What happened next?”

“I—bit—them,” he managed to get out through numb lips. He was shaking a little. Blood in his mouth…

“Where?”

“Bit ‘em… in the neck.” Flesh between his teeth… a fierce joy, so fleeting, so terrifying…

Merlin nodded in satisfaction. “What did you do after you killed them?” he asked bluntly.

Eggsy fidgeted with his cuffs, his bootlaces, his hair. It was getting too long. He needed a trim, keep it tidy. “Ran,” he muttered.

“Ran? How did no one see you?”

“It was dark. I hid whenever anyone was near. When I got to the right neighborhood the car was waiting, so I just jumped in and we took off.” Slowly, the worst over with, he began to relax. But Merlin wasn’t done. Was he ever, though?

“Why did you not come here first?” Merlin demanded bluntly. “You were supposed to report immediately.”

“I—I wasn’t thinking.” He’d been thinking that he needed his Harry, needed his mate, needed someone who would understand and be sympathetic and _care_. Merlin wouldn’t have cared. Roxy would’ve been sympathetic, but she wouldn’t have known and truly understood.

“You have to think if you want to be a Kingsman,” Merlin admonished.

Eggsy considered bristling, but it wasn’t worth the effort. So he just bowed his head, accepting that he was wrong. “I’m sorry, sir.”

There was a space of silence. Eggsy heard Merlin take a breath to say something—and then sharply snap out, “What? What did you say? Yes, I’ll send him. Eggsy, get up, Harry’s ill again, the fool. Elizabeth’s requesting your presence.”

Eggsy nodded vigorously, bounced to his feet, and rushed to the door.

~~~\0/~~~

“I am fine,” Harry said yet again. He wouldn’t have minded Eggsy fussing at him; when Elizabeth did it too, it set off all kinds of alarm bells. “I probably just caught an illness.”

“Well, we have to do tests anyway,” Elizabeth commented, still frowning worriedly. “Eggsy, hold him still. I need to draw blood.”

“I don’t need to be held still,” Harry protested, though he didn’t mind Eggsy promptly taking hold of his arm and rolling his sleeve up, and then holding his arm lightly as Elizabeth approached with the needle. Harry tensed as the needle approached his skin; Eggsy suddenly leaned over and kissed his neck, startling him so much that he didn’t even feel the bite of metal through flesh. He _did_ feel that strange ache, the drawing-out feeling, the vacuum suction of blood from a closed circuit. It made him shudder, but Eggsy held him still.

Finally, after what felt like half an hour of his vital fluids being sucked out by extraterrestrials, Elizabeth withdrew the needle, pressing a wad of gauze to the wound. Harry glanced at the vials of blood, and frowned.

“Elizabeth,” he began slowly, “That is twice as much as you need.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Just going to test for a few extra things,” she assured him. “And we have a new gizmo that can supposedly process in three hours, so you can get on with showing Arthur you’re still the best.”

“But what if he gets sick again?” Eggsy objected, with charming outrage. Harry took his hand and just held it. Eggsy wove his fingers with Harry’s and held on tight.

“I doubt he will,” Elizabeth replied casually, hiding an impish smirk. “Now, _tomorrow_ … I’d watch out tomorrow, especially in the morning. Now, let me get this processed, and we’ll send you on your way.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. Dear god, not Liza too.

Eggsy eyed her suspiciously, then nodded and stepped a little closer to Harry, who sighed with exaggerated exasperation at all these over-protective alpha. “How long will the processing take?” Harry asked wearily.

“Three to four hours,” Elizabeth repeated, gathering the vials. “Surely you can entertain yourselves that long without resorting to coitus.”

Eggsy blushed furiously and put on a stubborn expression. Harry glared at Elizabeth, who simply smiled seraphically. Surely she couldn’t know that they’d only made love three times. It was a fact that Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about; should he be proud? Should he be ashamed, or annoyed? What about simply regretful that it hadn’t been more? It had been so much fun…

His stomach felt queasy again. He swallowed hard and squeezed Eggsy’s hand tighter.

It wasn’t three hours, actually. Eggsy had just convinced Harry that making out was totally a valid way to pass the time (there hadn’t been much need for convincing) when Elizabeth returned, with the hugest, most shit-eating grin Harry had ever seen.

“I have some results right here,” she announced ever so sweetly, “And I think I should discuss them privately with Harry.”


	10. Chapter 10

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